


(I'm Not) Fluent In You

by the_sky_is_forever



Series: Je vais t'attendre là. [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, American!Grantaire, Asexual Character, Boarding School, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:24:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 89,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2608373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sky_is_forever/pseuds/the_sky_is_forever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire starts the new school year at a new boarding school - this one all the way in France. The problem is, he doesn't speak French.<br/>(Okay, the other problem is the far too attractive head boy, but that's another matter that can be dealt with on a different day entirely). </p><p>Title taken from Madison Moore's "What It Feels Like To Love You".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Whole New World

**Author's Note:**

> Due to the whole plot part of Grantaire not being able to speak the language, parts of the dialogue are written in [brackets]. These parts are spoken in French in the fic, and therefore these are the parts that Grantaire can't understand.  
> They are still in English, just in brackets. I hope that makes sense?

Grantaire has exactly no time to prepare himself when the tall blond opens his mouth and says, "[Hello, welcome to our school, my name is Enjolras, the head boy, and if you have any questions or problems you are to come to me directly.]"

Grantaire opens and closes his mouth a few times, his eyes unusually wide, before he manages to get out, "I don't- I don't really speak- my French is really bad..."

Now it's the tall blond boy's turn to gape. Then he lets out a loud sigh of frustration and rubs at the bridge of his nose before asking, in perfect English, with his eyes still closed, "What do you mean, you don't speak French?"

Grantaire shrugs, "Exactly that, monsieur."

The other boy frowns at him, "Did you understand anything that I said?"

"'Hello'? Oh, and that your name is Enjolras?" Grantaire says hopefully. "The rest was a touch fast."

Enjolras sighs, dramatically (or maybe that's just how he sighs), and answers, "I cannot deal with this - where are Courfeyrac and Combeferre? - I can't deal with you right now. Go stand- Go stand over there and don't move till I say." He ushers Grantaire towards the side of the room, pressing his bags into his hands.

Grantaire lets himself get herded, more out of shock than anything, and stares in disbelief as Enjolras immediately hurries away, shooting an irritated look at him over his shoulder.

Grantaire does as he's told for about a minute before he gets bored.

There's something inherently exciting about the school - especially today, on arriving day. Grantaire wasn't going to lie though; the best part of it was that he was over 9,000 kilometres from his parents. (Which was their choice, of course.)

He shoves his bags down in the corner of the room and leaves, shooting one look over his shoulder at Enjolras, who's talking to a family animatedly. Grantaire rolls his eyes.

He makes it maybe a hundred yards down a corridor before he turns off and runs head-first into someone. The other person goes flying, landing on the ground with a thud and an _'oof'_ as the wind is knocked out of them.

Grantaire, still standing, rushes forwards offering a hand to the girl sprawled on the floor, tossing her dip-dyed-blue blonde hair out of her face. "[Well, that's no way too greet your head girl!]" She exclaims with a laugh.

Grantaire flushes as she takes his hand, and is about to explain that he doesn't speak French when she looks at him properly for the first time, "Oh! The English speaker, right?" She laughs, delightedly, "You'll have to tell me how you got around that rule later, but for now - Enjolras sent me to take you back to where he put you."

Grantaire huffs, "And does Enjolras always get what he wants?"

The girl considers it for a long moment, pursing her lips. "Yes, usually," she admits, nodding sympathetically and grimacing.

"Well, then I'm certainly not going back," Grantaire informs her, side stepping around her.

Her hand shoots out and grabs his shoulder. He jerks to a stop. "Okay," She says slowly, "I'm going to say this once, and only once: my name is Cosette Fauchelevent. I am head girl here at this school. You will do as I ask. I don't care who you think you are - if you want a chance at surviving this school and making any friends that will speak English to you, you want me on your side. Trust me. Now go back to Enjolras."

She all but growls out the last line and Grantaire blinks in shock.

"Right," he says, a moment later, "To Enjolras?"

"To Enjolras," she echoes, grimly, and pushes him back the way he came. All Grantaire can think is that looks can be very, very deceiving.

Her hand grips his shirt all the way back to the entrance hall. Upon arriving, they find that the hall has mostly cleared, save for a few people standing around and chatting - including Enjolras. Cosette grins and pushes Grantaire forwards, before calling out, "Hey, Enjolras!" She then glances at Grantaire before switching to French, "[I found your runaway. You were right! He is cute!]"

The people in the hall look up, laughing, save for Enjolras who rolls his eyes. Grantaire feels himself blushing out of instinct, unsure what it was that Cosette had announced to the small crowd. Enjolras clicks his fingers at a boy with curly hair as he takes a step in Grantaire's direction.

"This is Courfeyrac," he tells Grantaire. "He has agreed to... tutor you in the language that you _should already speak_."

Courfeyrac tuts and pushes Enjolras aside, "Bonjour, Grantaire. Don't worry about a thing; we'll get you up to scratch." His accent, while speaking English, is oddly American, and makes Grantaire feel more relaxed – Enjolras’ is more pure-bred British. Courfeyrac is beaming at Grantaire, where Enjolras is glaring, and Grantaire knows immediately which he prefers.

“Hi, Courfeyrac,” he says carefully.

“[No, my friend, you say ‘hé’ now.]"

“Hé?” Grantaire attempts, causing Courfeyrac to clap delightedly.

Enjolras rolls his eyes and mutters to Courfeyrac, “[I’m going to see Combeferre, have fun with the American]"

As Enjolras stalks away, Grantaire can’t resist shouting after him, “I heard you say American, it’s rude to talk about someone in a language they can’t speak!”

Courfeyrac claps a hand over Grantaire’s mouth, forcing him to shut up. Grantaire makes a sound of protest, muffled by Courfeyrac’s skin, and Courfeyrac gives him a hard stare, “You really do not want Enjolras hating you,” Courfeyrac says.

Grantaire peels Courfeyrac’s hand away from his mouth and says, “So, him, Cosette, anyone else I should watch out for?”

Cosette laughs, a sweet sound, and Courfeyrac smiles too, “No,” he says, “It’s pretty much just their family. Oh, in that case: yes, actually. Cosette and Éponine are like sisters, stay out of her bad books, she’s just as bad as the other two.”

Cosette whacks him on the arm lightly, before leaning in and giving him a kiss on the cheek, “I know you love me really,” she smiles before setting off away from them.

Courfeyrac grins and calls after her, “Don’t let Pontmercy see you doing that to me!”

She flashes him a cheeky grin over her shoulder as she exits the room.

Courfeyrac decides that a guided tour is in order, leading Grantaire out of the entrance hall without making any introductions at all. Grantaire’s not complaining – he hates meeting new people all at once, there’s no chance in Hell that he will remember names like that.

Courfeyrac switches between French and English with ease, teaching Grantaire in such a way that Grantaire hardly realises he’s learning.

“ [This is the library]” he announces with a smile. “Though, you hardly seem the type to spend a long time studying, I might be wrong. Either way, the library is open from six am till eleven pm. That way you can do any really last minute homework or revision.”

Grantaire chuckles and tells Courfeyrac that he’s correct about his judge of character. Courfeyrac smirks, “Well, don’t let your grades drop too badly, we wouldn’t want you getting kicked out.”

As they move away, they hear a loud squeal, followed by, “[I’ve missed you so much!]” 

Someone throws themselves into Courfeyrac’s arms and Courfeyrac embraces them tightly, all but singing his response, “[My stars, I’ve missed you too.]” 

Grantaire stands there uncomfortably, as Courfeyrac spins the person round, dipping them down and kissing them firmly. When Courfeyrac pulls the other back up, the person is blushing profusely, but smiling happily too.

Courfeyrac turns to Grantaire with a sudden realisation, “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, switching back to English, “This is Jehan Prouvaire; one of my partners.”

Grantaire smiles automatically, though not forcefully, and uses what little French he knows to say, “[How are you?]” Courfeyrac smiles approvingly.

“[Ah, well, I'm much better now I'm reunited with Courf here, but all the same I'm very well. And you?]” Jehan rattles off, and Grantaire blinks. 

Courfeyrac lets out a peel of laughter, and quickly says, “Jehan, he doesn’t speak French.”

“Oh,” Jehan says in surprise, “ _Oh_. I’m sorry, I’m good, how are you?”

“I’m- Uh, actually, can I get back to you on that one?” Grantaire hedges.

Jehan smiles, reassuringly, “Of course.” They gives Courfeyrac a small peck on the lips, saying, “I’m going to go find Bahorel, come find us later?”

Courfeyrac smirks a little, glancing briefly at Grantaire, before continuing in French, “[Is he getting as enthusiastic a welcome as I got?]” 

Jehan kisses Courfeyrac again, pushing his hair out of his face as he all but growls, “[You bet your sweet ass he is.]” 

Grantaire stares at the ground resolutely, determined not to look at them even for a second. Grantaire’s not really sure how they’re managing to make French sound dirty, but God, they are.

“[Should I ditch the American and join you?]” 

“[Yes, please.]” 

Courfeyrac pulls away from Jehan and turns to Grantaire, who’s flushed bright red, and grins, “Sorry, would you mind if we cut this short? I’ve not seen Jehan and Bahorel at the same time since last term and well…”

Grantaire shakes his head abruptly, “No, not at all, you go… do whatever,” – he coughs awkwardly, adding in an undertone – “more like _whoever_.”

Courfeyrac, having picked up the end of his sentence, winks, “You got it.” He points down the corridor and directs Grantaire to his dorm, distractedly, as Jehan has started to kiss at his ear.

Grantaire nods, weakly, “You… have fun. Stay safe.” He adds as an afterthought and the two others giggle profusely, as Jehan takes Courfeyrac’s hand and drags him back the way he and Grantaire had come.

Grantaire shakes his head as he watches them dash off down the corridor, and he can’t help but wonder what the Hell kind of school he’s ended up at.

Predictably, he gets lost trying to find his room.

After wandering for near on an hour, he comes across a long-legged, beautiful girl with even darker skin than he, sat on the floor at the side of the corridor with her head in a comic. He stops, thinking that maybe she could help, and thinks hard about his sentence, finally saying, “[Excuse me? Uh, where can I find the... Uh, the dormitories?]” 

She looks up from the page languidly, and smiles lazily at the sight of him, “The English speaker, right?”

“Fucking Hell,” Grantaire mumbles, “How fast does news travel in this place?”

She laughs, the sound light and dripping with ease, “Very. Especially when it’s news concerning a new handsome American.”

“You say that like there’s already one here,” he replies.

“Have you not met Courfeyrac?” She asks, with a frown.

“Oh,” he says in realisation, “That explains the accent.”

The girl pulls herself to her feet, “I’m Musichetta,” she tells him, leaning in and kissing him once on either cheek. “Also American.”

He smiles at her, finding her very easy to get along with. “I’m really lost,” he admits, “Can you get me to the dorms?”

She giggles, shaking her head in a manner that’s almost fond, “You really are – you’re in the girl’s wing, right now.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says again.

“Don’t worry,” she says, and that’s the second time someone’s said that to him today, “Follow me.”

Taking his hand, she guides him on a long, winding route that he tries to memorise but soon gives up. He can’t help but trust this girl as she pulls him down yet another corridor. Eventually, they come to a stop. She turns to him, her shoulder length dark brown hair swishes around her neck as she moves.

She raps on a door and waits, “This is the common room for the boys in our year, honestly? They’re all… weird might be the word I’d use, but you’ll love them.”

The door swings open and Musichetta nudges him forwards. The short, dark-haired boy standing in the doorway simply lights up and yells, "[The American is here!]" Grantaire, in all honesty, is getting a little tired of being referred to as ‘The American’.

A chorus of cheers breaks out from in the room and Courfeyrac appears, “Oh, Grantaire, thank God,” he says rapidly, “I thought I’d lost you!”

Grantaire frowns a little and answers, “You didn’t lose me, so much as abandon my in favour of your hot partner.”

“Partne _rs_ ,” Courfeyrac clarifies, as if that makes it any better. “Thanks, Chetta, you’re a Godsend.”

“My pleasure,” she says, “He’s quite a looker, isn’t he?”

Grantaire blushes again.

The other boy pulls a face at her and she laughs, “Oh, Joly, dearest, you know I only have eyes for you and Bossuet.”

That’s the point in which Grantaire starts to wonder if anyone in his new school _isn’t_ polyamorous.

When Courfeyrac pulls him into the common room, he finds himself surrounded by quite a large group of boys, staring at him. His eyes find Enjolras the easiest – whether it’s because he’s the person he knows, or because of how easily Enjolras can stand out in any situation, he’s not sure. Enjolras nods at him from where he’s sitting. Grantaire nods back, not daring to smile.

“Is it true you can’t speak French?” A voice pipes up.

Grantaire tries to find the owner of the voice, but gives up, simply sighing and saying, “Yes, it’s true.”

Someone – a boy with skin a similar shade to Grantaire’s own, laughs, and says, "[That's going to be a lot of fun]", making quite a few people laugh. Grantaire frowns in confusion, and the laughter increases.

Courfeyrac, though clearly having to fight the temptation to laugh, speaks up, “Hey now, no picking on my American!”

A boy with black hair and a wicked smile speaks up, sounding almost lazy as he says, “Well, it’s hardly _our_ fault that the American didn’t bother to learn the language.” He’s sprawled across two chairs pulled up next to an open window, a cigarette dangling from between his lips.

Grantaire opens his mouth to snap at them that _he has a name_ , when someone beats him to it.

Jumping to his feet with a furious glare at them all, Enjolras growls, “ _He has a name._ ”

Grantaire blinks. The boy with the cigarette smirks, “Oh? Pray tell?”

Enjolras glances towards Grantaire, “It’s Grantaire, right?”

Grantaire can only nod mutely. He recovers though, when Enjolras nods at him again, taking his seat once more. A boy sat near him reaches over and touches him lightly on the shoulder, but Enjolras shakes him off.

“If you must know,” Grantaire says slowly, and suddenly he has the whole rooms attention again, “I didn’t know I was being shipped off to here until the other day. I’ve never been to France before, and I don’t know what you know about American public schools, but if you’ve heard any of the stories I can promise you they’re true.”

A pause as Courfeyrac translates and then there’s a hushed silence that follows his words, until someone says, “[You went to public school?]"

Grantaire glances at Courfeyrac, who translates, sounding a little embarrassed. Grantaire shrugs, “Sorry, you don’t get all of my tragic backstory, that’s for level four friends. Still, let’s just say that after a while, public school was all that would have me.”

Grantaire then looks over at Enjolras, “Where can I put my stuff?” he asks as Courfeyrac quietly translates Grantaire’s words.

Enjolras slowly gets up again, “This way.”

Grantaire can feel the group’s eyes on him the whole way out of the room. 


	2. I Can Tell That We Are Gonna Be Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading bless you

Grantaire walks along, keeping his eyes straight ahead, and he says, "Thanks for defending me back there."

Enjolras looks at him. "I defend people who need it," he says seriously.

"What makes you think I need it?" Grantaire demands immediately.

Enjolras snorts, giving him a withering look. "Please. They were tearing you to shreds back there - or they had the intention to at the very least."

They walk in silence for a few paces. Grantaire wants to be able to say that he can take care of himself, but seeing as how he turned up at a French school with little knowledge of the language... he really can't.

Eventually, he just says, "Are they always like that?" in a quiet voice.

Enjolras breathes out heavily, "No, not always. I'm sure they'll settle down. Please do try to learn the language quickly, though."

Grantaire nods, stiffly.

As they had been walking down the corridor, the doors had been numbered, alternating on either side, from 1 all the way to the door they are stood in front of now: 11

There are six more doors after that.

Enjolras gestures at the rest, "Everything from here to the end is empty. Take your pick."

Grantaire only nods. His hands grip the handle of his bag tightly, turning his knuckles white.

Enjolras hesitates for a moment, but when he speaks it's only to tell Grantaire to meet him in the common room before six for dinner. Then he's gone, stalking off down the corridor.

Grantaire stares after him, his blond hair swishing slightly as he walks, and then turns his attention to door 11.

It opens easily, swinging wide inwardly and displaying the rather small room. Standing in the doorway, Grantaire stares around the room.

A single bed is pushed up against the right-hand wall, the head and the foot touching opposite walls. At the foot there's a window, but the curtains are pulled shut.

He flicks on the light and it flickers to life.

It looks better in light; the white walls making it seem a little larger. There's a cupboard for his clothes and a desk and chair set too.

He throws his bag onto his bed and sits down heavily next to it. "Fuck," he mumbles under his breath. The reality of it all hits him in one go - he really is here. He's really in a foreign country. He's really in this school. He's really been sent away from home for being too much to handle.

And it's all his fault.

He curses again. Running his hands through his hair he hunches over on himself for a second, trying to get a hold of himself.

"Okay," he breathes, "Okay, you've got this."

Two more deep breaths, and then he's on his feet.

Hastily he unpacks his bags, finding places for his clothes, books, pens, sketchbooks and-

Oh. He'd forgotten his guitar. He'd _known_ there was something. He swears again, cursing himself for leaving in such an angry rush.

He changes his clothes, grumbling under his breath all the while, and then flops back down on his bed, back against the wall. The clock that he threw onto his desk reads 5:30 and he sighs, knowing he has to go back through to the others.

He gets to his feet and looks at himself in the floor-length mirror on the door of his wardrobe. Black skinny jeans coupled with a plain white top, he figures that’s not going to offend anyone. To cover up his scruffy hair he grabs a green beanie from his bag and shoves it on his head. He lifts his chin and grits his teeth. He's got this.

He walks back down the carpeted hallway towards the common room, and he can hear music playing with a rhythmic clapping from a lot of people.

As he opens the door, he's greeted with one Hell of a sight.

Courfeyrac's up on his feet, whirling a rather muscular boy with dark hair around the room, both of them laughing joyously. Near them, Jehan is also dancing, on his own but no less happily, twirling round and singing along to the music.

The rest of the group are clapping along, keeping time and most everyone is laughing too.

Grantaire's eyes find Enjolras, finding him to be joining in clapping, grinning as his friends dance around. Grantaire feels a pull in his stomach, watching Enjolras smile happily - could he make Enjolras smile like that? - and he leans back against the door frame, dragging his eyes back to Courfeyrac, Jehan, and the other boy.

They're all wonderful dancers, their movements moving with the music perfectly.

A boy of the other side of the room jumps to his feet, pulling someone else with him. The one being pulled screeches, "Jolllyyyy, I can't dance!"

Joly laughs and tells him that he'll be fine.

Joly shows the taller boy with the dark skin where to put his hands, and then starts leading him in a sort of waltz around the room.

Grantaire laughs softly to himself as the taller boy stumbles over his own feet trying to follow the other.

Someone spots him and calls over, "Hey, American, do you dance?"

Grantaire startles, "When the occasion calls for it.”

Jehan grins at him, "How about right now?" He asks, holding one hand out invitingly.

Grantaire shakes his head, declining as politely as he can, "Sorry to disappoint, I don't dance with just anyone."

Enjolras looks at him, "That's a little pretentious," he informs him.

Grantaire frowns, "Pretentious, or my own private business. Take your pick."

Enjolras simply rolls his eyes while the boy lounging across a few chairs with the cigarette makes a low ' _ooh_ 'ing sound.

Jehan turns to the blond boy with a grin, "[Then will you dance with me?]"

Enjolras returns with a withering look, "[No, it's almost dinner, we should go. Perhaps another time, Jehan.]"

"[Oh, you _never_ dance,]" Jehan sighs.

Someone giggles and says, "[He's just waiting for the right partner.]"

Grantaire has no idea what's being said, but people are laughing and Enjolras looks irritated so he finds himself smiling on impulse.

Someone shuts off the music and a groan rises from the dancers (except from the taller boy who couldn't look more relieved if he tried).

As people start to get to their feet, Grantaire stops leaning against the doorframe, standing up straight and watching people in confusion. Courfeyrac kisses his dance partner – or perhaps his other _partner_ – on the cheek and skips across to him. “Come on,” he says with a grin, taking Grantaire’s hand, “Dinner time!”

Grantaire is left with no choice but to follow along as Courfeyrac starts to drag him across the room to where the others are starting to file out into the hallway.

Somewhere along the way to the dining hall, they bump into the girls, merging groups and chatting happily. Joly, the boy he was dancing with and Musichetta link arms, chattering excitedly in French.

Courfeyrac's still holding Grantaire's hand tightly, pulling him along down the corridor. Grantaire's eyes find Enjolras, who's talking to a boy with glasses and an easy smile. On Courfeyrac's other side, Jehan and the boy Courfeyrac had been dancing with are holding hands and talking easily.

When they reach the dining hall, already buzzing with students from other years, and Grantaire follows his new acquaintances over to a long table that they begin to pile around, squashing onto the benches and giggling as they squirm to fit.

Grantaire ends up between Courfeyrac and the boy that Enjolras had been talking to - the one with the glasses.

"Right!" Courfeyrac says, "Introductions!"

Everyone looks at him with bemusement and Grantaire coughs awkwardly, "I'm, uh, I'm Grantaire."

Courfeyrac tuts at him, "You could have said that in French, but never mind."

They begin to work their way around the group. There are so many names, Grantaire's sure he'll never remember them all.

There's Courfeyrac and Jehan who are dating, of course, but there's also Bahorel, the muscular one that Courfeyrac was dancing with, who they are also dating. There's Feuilly too, a ginger boy with curly hair. Then there's Joly, Musichetta, and the other boy they're dating, Bossuet. Then there's Marius and Cosette (Grantaire quickly realises that they are the most sickeningly sweet couple ever). There's also Enjolras, of course, and the boy with glasses, Combeferre (who are maybe dating – Grantaire can't tell). Then there's Éponine and Montparnasse (who Grantaire recognises as the smoker from earlier), both looking very intimidating, despite the fact that they are holding hands and smiling.

Grantaire's head is spinning by this point. At last he says, "Uh, there's a lot of you."

Éponine laughs and Musichetta smiles wryly, "Don't worry, Sugar, you'll get there."

Grantaire shrugs. He looks down at his food, pushing it around a little with his fork and awkwardly avoiding everyone’s eyes. Thankfully, they get the idea and start up their own conversations, leaving him to his silence.

The one with the glasses – his name began with a ‘C’, Grantaire was pretty sure – pats his hand gently and givee him a small smile before turning to talk to Enjolras.

\--

"What's going on?" Grantaire asks Courfeyrac, standing in the boy's bedroom doorway as he roots through his bag.

Courfeyrac stands up, holding up two bottles of vodka, "We're having a party, obviously."

Grantaire chokes, "How did you get those in?"

Courfeyrac gave him an eye roll for his question, "I'm brilliant, that's how. And Bahorel has the beer."

Courfeyrac brushes past him and Grantaire follows, of course. “Is this allowed?” Grantaire asks.

Courfeyrac scoffs and gives him a pitying look. He rolls his eyes, “Now, I don’t know much about you, but it sounds like you got kicked out of a few schools so I _know_ you don’t care about ‘allowed’.”

Grantaire smiles ruefully, “That’s true enough.”

Courfeyrac leads the way back to the common room talking over his shoulder, “So, yeah, no, this isn’t allowed, but the teachers look the other way on the first night and the last night.”

Grantaire grins, “That’s a pretty sweet deal.”

Courfeyrac laughs.

They reach the common room and Courfeyrac ditches him as he goes to put the alcohol with the other drinks.

Grantaire stands at the edge of the room, not knowing where to sit.

Enjolras – because of course that’s who Grantaire spots first – and Cosette are sat in an oversized armchair laughing about something. At their feet sits Combeferre, leaning against the chair but twisting round a little so he can look up at them and join in the conversation, a grin spread across his face.

Grantaire’s eyes slide away from them, searching the room and noting where people are and who’s sat with whom.

He’s saved the awkwardness of going to sit with someone when Bossuet – a name that Grantaire can actually remember – comes over to him and throws an arm around his shoulder comfortably. “Come sit with Joly and Chetta, yes?”

Grantaire can’t refuse that smile – nor should he, seeing as how he doesn’t really know anyone else.

Musichetta and Joly greet him with wide smiles and open arms and Grantaire feels more at ease than he has in a long time. There’s something familiar and warm about their friendly faces and he finds them easy to talk to.

Everyone’s in separate groups, talking happily, catching up from the holidays most likely, when Courfeyrac gets to his feet and yells, “[Drinking games!]”

Everyone cheers, except Grantaire, who leans over to Chetta and says, “What did he say?”

She grins at him mischievously, “Are you a lightweight, Grantaire?”

He smirks, “I can handle my drink.”

She laughs, “Good, because we’re doing drinking games. You better be able to keep up.”

She jumps to her feet, offering Grantaire a hand and dragging him up after her. A circle is already forming in the middle of the room and they join quickly, Grantaire finding himself between Musichetta and Éponine.

Bottles of beer are handed out as Courfeyrac starts explaining the first game. It’s basic, a starting ground, Grantaire’s sure.

A simple game of truth or dare where you can drink to pass; no one’s going to get drunk fast, Grantaire can tell. But the night is young, he thinks with a smile.

Courfeyrac goes first, calling truth, and Jehan rolls his eyes.

“Who was the first person you fucked?” Glasses-boy asks, and Grantaire raises his eyebrows.

Courfeyrac laughs, “What if it was two people?”

Jehan gives him a hard stare, “Oh, come on, there was _no way_ you were a virgin that night.”

Courfeyrac gives a half bow from his seated position. Jehan and Bahorel suddenly look very impressed (and more than a little shocked).

Courfeyrac just laughs, “Alright, Ferre,” he says to glasses-boy, using what _must_ be a nickname because Grantaire is sure that name wasn’t mentioned earlier, “Truth or dare?”

The game continues on much in the same manner, and Grantaire stays silent mostly, learning a little more about his new- friends, he supposes. He’s aware that they’re all speaking English for his sake, but he doesn’t mention it.

He finds out that Combeferre – because _that’s_ what his name is – and Montparnasse both consider Éponine to be the best lay they’ve ever had. He watches as Feuilly makes out with Bahorel. He laughs along with the rest of them as Joly is asked who’s better in bed, Musichetta or Bossuet. Joly glances at his boyfriend and his girlfriend before picking up his drink to become the first person to drink to pass a question. Bossuet and Musichetta pat him on the knees, sat on either side of him, and he blushes.

Eventually, someone calls on Grantaire, and he blinks in surprise. He doesn’t particularly want to make out with someone he doesn’t know but will have to see again every day, so hesitantly, he chooses truth.

Courfeyrac’s face lights up, “Alright,” he grins, “Who’s the most attractive person in this room, not including yourself?”

Everyone sits up at that, looking at Grantaire with interest.

Grantaire stumbles, “W-what? I can’t possibly say that.” He protests.

Courfeyrac waves a hand, “Sure you can, and no one will be offended, right?”

They all nod in agreement, keen to hear who Grantaire will chose.

He stares around at them all before blurting out, “You’re all fucking attractive, how am I supposed to choose?”

A chorus of laughter bursts out in the group and Musichetta pats him on the knee sympathetically.

“Alright,” Combeferre says, also looking interested, “Pick three.”

Grantaire sighs and looks around at his choices again. There’s one that sticks out, but there’s no way he can say it out loud. Or maybe he can.

“Fine,” he drawls, “If a single one of you holds this against me, I swear to God… I pick Chetta, Éponine, and Enjolras.”

There’s a pause, and then Courfeyrac’s grin gets even wider as he chokes out a laugh. Combeferre smiles, shaking his head as he claps his hands together slowly as if in disbelief. Musichetta and Éponine lean in and kiss Grantaire on either cheek at the same time, in thanks. He blushes, but can’t help grinning too as other people start to laugh and cheer for his choices.

“I was so worried you’d just pick girls,” Courfeyrac tells him.

Grantaire shrugs, but he still hasn’t looked at Enjolras since saying his name. Instead he picks up his drink and takes a large gulp.

“New game,” Courfeyrac says, “No one’s drinking enough.” He smirks, “Inspired by that moment right there, we go round the circle and you have to say who you would fuck that’s in the room. You have to say one. No more than two. If you don’t get picked, you drink.”

Everyone starts grinning.

Combeferre then adds in, “And you can’t pick anyone you are in a relationship with.”

Joly starts to protest, but he gets shot down and Chetta shushes him gently.

They start with Courfeyrac who immediately says Combeferre and Marius, adding ‘preferably at the same time’ after.  The two boys give him a despairing look for that comment while others laugh and drink.

Combeferre seems to struggle with the question, but eventually shrugs and says Cosette. Cosette then chooses Éponine, who in turn chooses Enjolras (“Out of simple curiosity.”) Enjolras flushes awfully and Grantaire’s eyes flick across to him when he says, “Uh, well, I guess Montparnasse.” The room hoots with laughter at that and Montparnasse bats his eyelashes at him while Courfeyrac says, “I didn’t know you were into the punk rock look, Enje.” Enjolras sticks his middle finger up at the room.

Montparnasse choses Musichetta, and Musichetta picks Grantaire and Jehan. Jehan chooses Joly, making the poor boy blush terribly. It goes round and round, the most common names being Jehan, Courfeyrac, and Éponine.

When Joly picks Grantaire, the rooms splutters a laugh and Grantaire looks at him in surprise. Joly shrugs, leaning against Bossuet, and says, “What can I say? You’ve got that rugged artist look about you. The beanie _really_ works.”

Grantaire laughs and winks at him.

“So, who do you pick, Grantaire?” Éponine prompts.

“Didn’t I already answer that?” he asks.

The majority of the people in the room shake their heads, “Nope!” Courfeyrac says.

Grantaire sighs, “Well, same people, I guess.”

Musichetta laughs and says, “You picked three. You have to get it down to two.”

Grantaire stares at her for a second. “This is so unfair,” he mutters. “Alright,” he then says at a normal volume, “Sorry, Éponine, I choose Chetta and Enjolras.” This time he has enough alcohol in his system to look across to Enjolras for his reaction.

Enjolras is leaning back on his hands, watching him with a mildly amused look on his face. Grantaire raises an eyebrow and winks, “How about it, Apollo?” he calls across, not sure where the nickname came from.

Enjolras laughs, “In your dreams, American,” he replies.

“Damn,” Grantaire smirks, before adding sarcastically, “And I really thought I had a chance.”

Someone giggles and Grantaire drags his eyes away from the blond boy.

A few hours later, the girls and Jehan excuse themselves, heading off to their rooms in the other wing of the school. Jehan gives Courfeyrac and Bahorel equally long kisses, promising to sleep in this wing tomorrow night and telling them they’d see him tomorrow.

Most of the boys head off to sleep not long after that, and Grantaire finds himself sitting with Montparnasse by the open window, passing a cigarette back and forth.

Enjolras and Combeferre are sitting on the floor at a small coffee table playing cards and talking quietly in French.

On a sofa, Courfeyrac and Bahorel are curled up, exchanging lazy kisses and whispers, a bottle of vodka held between them that they take gulps of every now and then.

“So,” Montparnasse says as he breathes out a breath of smoke, “You’ve got a thing for Enjolras.”

Grantaire gives him an eye roll for that comment and takes the cigarette off him, taking a long draw from it, “No, he’s just hot is all.” Hot doesn’t even cover it, really: radiant, glorious, incredible, Godlike; that’s more like it. Wow, he’s drunker than he thought. He takes another drag of the cigarette and passes it back to Montparnasse as he gets to his feet. “I’m going to bed,” he says, and Montparnasse nods, turning to look out the window without another word.

Grantaire likes that about him.

As he passes their table, Combeferre says, “Goodnight, Grantaire,” but Enjolras stays silent.

Grantaire tries not to think about that as he gets into bed and lies staring up at the ceiling, and finds that he can’t think about anything else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been like a week since I put up the first chapter and I just want you to know that that's not necessarily going to be a thing. I'll try to be regular but usually I write most of the fic before I upload; this time I'm just writing the chapter and then putting it up. We'll see how it goes. Feel free to comment to tell me to get a move on or message me on nerds-are-cool.tumblr.com or w/e  
> thank you so much for reading! :D


	3. For A Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But for a second your attention just belonged to me  
> And it passed so fast it just fractured all my cool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING :D

When Grantaire wakes up, the first thing he notices is that he's not alone in his bed. The second thing he notices is- no, wait, that first thing is really all he notices.

He comes to abruptly, sitting up fast. His head spins as the blood rushes in his head, making his eyesight black out momentarily. "What the Hell?" He chokes out.

Courfeyrac is lying next to him in the bed, leaning on one elbow and smiling at him cheerfully. "[Good morning, Grantaire!]"

Grantaire glares at him, steadying his breathing, and says, "Get the fuck out of my bed."

Courfeyrac sighs and sits up, leaning against the wall with him.

"That's creepy," Grantaire informs him, debating internally whether or not to push the boy out of his bed.

"Yes, I've been told," Courfeyrac says dismissively. "But anyway, you need to get up. It's breakfast."

This time Grantaire really does shove him out of the bed. Courfeyrac lands on the floor with an _'oof'_ and a hurt look on his face. Grantaire ignores this and curls back up in his covers, burying his face into his pillow.

Courfeyrac tuts and Grantaire listens to the sounds of him picking himself up off the ground. He barely resists letting out a loud groan at the feel of Courfeyrac settling himself in a seated position at the foot of his bed. "I'm not leaving till you get up."

"I don't eat breakfast," Grantaire mumbles.

"Oh, you're as bad as Enjolras," Courfeyrac says, making the other boy's name sound like a curse. “Come on, everyone’s going down, you have to come.”

Grantaire rolls over to give Courfeyrac a hard stare.

From out in the corridor, they hear Jehan – who’s already here, why is he already here, didn’t he sleep in the girls’ wing? – yell, “Fey? [Where are you?]”

Courfeyrac grins, “[I’m in room 11, come on in!]”

Grantaire frowns at him, wondering why he looks so pleased with himself, but when Jehan comes in and flops down next to Courfeyrac, he gets his answer. “Good morning, Grantaire,” Jehan sings happily.

“Leave me alone,” Grantaire all but whines.

Thanks to Jehan leaving the door open, and the sounds of their voices, Bahorel then appears in the doorway, “Ooh!” he says, “Pyjama party!” He comes across to join them on the bed and Grantaire pulls his knees up to his chest reluctantly.

“I don’t remember inviting any of you in here,” Grantaire says sullenly, but resigning himself to his fate as Feuilly then arrives.

“What’s happening in here?” The red-haired boy asks.

“We’re sitting here until Grantaire gets up, the lazy sod,” Courfeyrac informs him.

Feuilly laughs, “Next you’ll have to visit Enjolras, it seems even Ferre is having a hard time getting him out of bed.”

“Alright!” Grantaire interrupts, “I’m getting up, get the fuck out!”

The four boys leave as Grantaire drags himself out of the bed, electing to pull on an over-sized jumper over his t-shirt that he slept in, instead of getting properly changed. His trackie bottoms hang low on his waist, but he’s fairly sure they won’t fall down so, after pulling on a thick pair of socks, he heads out to the common room.

Most of the doors are open as he walks past them, their inhabitants in various stages of dress and consciousness. He passes Marius as the boy fixes his hair in the mirror, dressed neatly and looking wide awake, and he passes what is clearly Enjolras’ room – Combeferre can be seen inside, talking to what seems to be just a pile of bed covers. Grantaire stifles a laugh at that and keeps walking.

Courfeyrac and Jehan both give Grantaire an appraising look for his attire when he gets into the common room, but Bahorel tells them to lay off.

Bossuet and Joly bound up to him happily and Joly hugs him tightly. Grantaire laughs, a little awkwardly, and pats the boy on the shoulder.

He follows the group down to the dining hall, half listening to them babble away in French. At one point he hears the word [American] but since he didn’t pick up on the rest, there’s no point dwelling on it.

No one seems particularly worse for wear after last night, and Grantaire decides he likes these people.

Cosette, Musichetta, and Éponine are already gathered at what Grantaire supposes is ‘their’ table and the boys and Jehan join the girls, smiling round.

Grantaire sits next to Jehan, with the rest of the bench empty on his other side.

He helps himself to toast, eating it purely because he has nothing else to do, and he tunes out their conversation. He’s staring at the opposite wall when someone sits down next to him with a heavy sigh.

He glances up, startled, and finds himself face to face with Enjolras. “Good morning, Apollo,” he says wryly.

Enjolras gives him a half-hearted glare and doesn’t say anything as he lifts a mug filled with coffee to his lips.

“Where did you get the coffee?” Grantaire asks, confused.

Enjolras looks at him oddly, “Has no one explained anything to you?” He twists around in his seat and points, Grantaire following his gaze, “Over there. Look, wow, a queue. They serve hot food and drinks.”

Grantaire returns with a scathing look for the boy’s condescension. “But last night, food was just on the table, is that not…?” he trails off.

“No,” Enjolras says, “That was just for the first night; from now on you have to go choose what you want to eat.”

Grantaire just nods. Enjolras turns back to his coffee, clearly a dismissal.

Grantaire gets up from the table and goes to get his coffee, taking it back up to the common room once he has it.

By the time he gets there his mind is abuzz. There’s something about Enjolras he can’t figure out, some elusive pull to him that means Grantaire just can’t look away.

It could be his looks – the boy is handsome after all, almost delicate, certainly beautiful, but there’s more to it than that. There is definitely something intriguing about the ‘I defend those who need it’ ‘I’d fuck Montparnasse’ Enjolras. He was kind, but he was cruel, he glared before and after he smiled, and he makes Grantaire’s head spin.

When a boy has your total attention after one day of knowing him, there must be something special about him. Especially after how long it’s been since Grantaire let a boy get under his skin.

The common room is empty, and Grantaire is eternally thankful for that as he sits down on one of the sofas, pulling his knees up to his chest and sipping at the coffee. He stares at the blank wall opposite him and thinks about the previous night.

After going to bed, he’d lain awake for hours, his mind spinning with thoughts of that boy – how he’d been the first person to greet him at the school, the way it had felt to be roughly dragged across the room and told to _stay there_ , how Enjolras had nodded at him the next time he saw him – an almost respectful greeting – but mostly how, when they’d all been a little drunk on beer and vodka, Grantaire could have sworn he’d seen Enjolras smiling when Grantaire picked him. How, even though he hadn’t said _goodnight_ Grantaire had seen him look up as he left.

There’s just something about him: something irresistible; something that just draws Grantaire in; something that is hard to not think about.

Even so, he’s so far above Grantaire. Maybe that’s what it is: his unobtainability; isn’t there a saying, or a theory, that people are drawn to that which they do not – or cannot – have?

Even that sounds too simplified, Grantaire thinks. There has to be something more.

Draining the last bit of coffee in his mug, he sets the empty cup on the floor and settles back into the cushion for a moment before hopping to his feet and heading back to his room to get changed.

He gets back to the common room just as Enjolras and Combeferre walk in. There’s a moment of silence, in which Grantaire tries not to stare in an open-mouthed fashion, and then Grantaire smiles. He bows, mockingly, and says, “Good morning, Messieurs.”

Enjolras lets out a heavy sigh and rewards Grantaire with an eye roll (and Grantaire’s heart absolutely does not skip a beat when Enjolras speaks to him), “Good morning, Grantaire.”

Combeferre echoes the greeting and Grantaire smiles at him too.

“Tell me,” he says, “Does this fine establishment have a music room?”

Enjolras squints his eyes at him, frowning slightly, “Of course, why?”

“Because, my good man, I forgot my guitar, and I’m going to need access to one, so…” Grantaire explains, a little mockingly, but mostly sincere.

Combeferre’s the next to speak, interrupting with, “You play the guitar?” sounding genuinely interested.

Grantaire nods, “And the piano,” he adds, not sure why he’s bothering, and his eyes don’t leave Enjolras.

“I can show you where it is,” Enjolras offers, not sounding completely thrilled about the idea.

Grantaire hesitates; weighs up the pros and cons: on one hand, spending time with Enjolras; on the other hand, spending time with Enjolras. Chance to flirt, and chance to mess up. Chance to make a good impression, and chance to make a complete fool of himself. “That would be great, yes,” Grantaire finds himself saying.

Combeferre smiles, “Right, well, see you later, Enjolras.” And then he’s gone, leaving Enjolras and Grantaire alone.

He doesn’t hang around, waving one hand at Grantaire and saying, “Come on,” as he leads him from the room.

Grantaire follows him.

They walk in silence for a while but pretty soon the silence becomes too much for Grantaire, who's secretly bubbling over inside. "So, I can't help but notice that tomorrow's Monday."

Enjolras looks at him, as if to say 'what's your point?'

"Well, I assume that means school starts right? And no one's mentioned how classes work, or what times, let alone what classes I'm actually taking," Grantaire points out, and Enjolras comes to a dead stop.

"What do you _mean_ you don't know what classes you're taking?"

Grantaire stops walking too, "Well, exactly that."

"That needs sorting out, oh my God, why wouldn't you mention that sooner?"

"It only occurred to me now!"

Enjolras curses, "Right, okay, we're going to see Valjean," he says, grabbing Grantaire's arm and spinning him round.

"No we're not," Grantaire protests, "I want to go to the music room."

"The music room will be here all day," Enjolras points out, and he gives Grantaire a glare that makes Grantaire's heart beat a little faster.

"So will Valjean," Grantaire argues and he's only partly aware that all he really wants is to keep Enjolras' attention on him and actually having no idea who Valjean might be.

"You're insufferable," Enjolras snaps and Grantaire smirks.

"I've been told."

Enjolras seems to flinch, though Grantaire can't tell why, and Enjolras then says, "Alright fine, but we're not staying for long," so Grantaire doesn't press it, having got what he wants.

Enjolras starts off again down the corridor and Grantaire follows, a step behind.

They arrive at the music rooms, not having said another word. Enjolras throws the door open and someone jumps in surprise, their fingers pressing down on wrong keys on a piano in their shock.

Grantaire is a little behind Enjolras, and he gets into the room to here Enjolras speaking French to the person in the room. "[I'm sorry for interrupting; I didn't know there'd be anyone in here. I'm just showing the new kid around.]"

The person sat at the piano blushes and shakes their head and Grantaire smiles at them, a little shyly.

"Floréal, Grantaire. Grantaire, Floréal," Enjolras makes the introductions, "She doesn't speak much English. [He doesn't speak French.] You two are going to get on like a house on fire."

Grantaire gives Enjolras a hard glare and walks over to the girl, offering his hand. "[Hello]," he says, because even he can manage that much French. "[I'm Grantaire. I'm American.]" That's really about as much as he can manage, but as the girl takes his hand and shakes it, she's smiling.

"[I'm Floréal,]" she replies, blushing a little.

Grantaire pulls his hand back. He gestures at the piano and attempts to non-verbally ask if he can have a go. She seems to understand because she nods enthusiastically and slides along on the stool, making room for him without actually getting up.

He sits down next to her and looks over the sheet music she has laid out. He begins to play, slowly at first, playing by sight, but gradually begins to pick up speed as the music calls for an accelerando. When the piece finally comes to a crescendo before abruptly ending, Floréal claps her hands together delightedly. She laughs happily and she exclaims, "[Very good, Grantaire!]”

He says "[Thank you,]" quietly, and gives her another smile, before getting up off the seat.

Floréal stands up too and Grantaire heads off to check the guitars lined up against the wall as she speaks in French to Enjolras. "[He's lovely,]" she remarks, "[Are you interested?]"

"[No, of course not,]" Enjolras responds, sounding exasperated, and Grantaire wonders what it is that she could have said.

She laughs, lightly, and says, "[You could have fooled me; I could have sworn you actually smiled when he was playing.]" Then she's gone, leaving Enjolras blushing heavily and glaring after her.

Grantaire glances up at him, as he picks up one of the guitars, "What did she say?"

Enjolras seems to force himself to make eye contact when he says, "Oh, nothing really, just saying it was nice to see me again."

Grantaire's smile freezes for a second as he thinks that through, before he says, "You had a strong reaction to such an innocent statement."

Enjolras glares at him, daring him to say anything more. Grantaire can't resist, and as he settles down onto a stool, balancing the guitar on his knee and strumming a simple chord, he says, "I might even assume that there's history between you two."

He waits in silence for Enjolras to give a reply, but none comes. Grantaire simply shrugs and says, "I'm taking that as a 'yes'."

Enjolras stays silent.

Grantaire turns his attention to the guitar, plucking away at the start of a song, and he's acutely aware that Enjolras is watching him.

A minute later, Enjolras clears his throats and says jerkily, "We should go. We need to talk to Valjean."

Grantaire looks up from the guitar, “Wow, you really did mean it when you said we weren’t staying long.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and Grantaire can’t help but crack a smile at that.

Enjolras pauses for a second, and he looks at Grantaire, a small frown appearing on his face for such a brief time that Grantaire could almost say he’d imagined it, but then Enjolras shakes his head, “Let’s go see Valjean.” 

When Enjolras turns away and walks out the door, Grantaire’s stomach plummets. His lips part a little and when he breathes out it’s a little shakey. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this isn't actually all i had written for this chapter but the day was getting long and i was over thinking and i had too much for the chapter length and i rly wanted to get a chapter up because it's been a little while and i was nowhere near done with what i wanted to put in this chapter so hey the rest will come sometime next week.  
> probably the weekend; i have mock exams all this week. (wish me luck?)


	4. I Somehow See What's Beautiful

Valjean, it turns out, is the headmaster at Grantaire's new school.

When they reach his door, Enjolras stops Grantaire with one hand and looks him up and down. Disapprovingly, he straightens Grantaire's shirt a little, and Grantaire does his best not to blush.

"You'll do," Enjolras says.

"Such high praise," Grantaire replies, but he can't be sure that Enjolras hears him because the blond boy is throwing open the doors to the headmaster's office like he owns it and striding inside. (It would be lying to say that Grantaire isn't completely impressed.)

There's a sort of mutual respect between the headmaster and Enjolras that comes from something more than Enjolras' headboyship.

The meeting doesn't last long, and Grantaire thanks a God he doesn't believe in for that. It transpires that his parents, for once, haven't been complete assholes in selecting his classes. He's taking art, music, English literature, and modern history.

When Valjean reads those out, Grantaire murmurs, "Oh, thank God," under his breath, and Enjolras seems to hide a small smile. Grantaire receives a timetable of his week and he glances over it, taking in the nice ratio of free-time to lessons. Valjean smiles at him, before asking Enjolras to give them a moment.

Enjolras startles, “Monsieur?”

Valjean gives him a look, “Only for a moment; Grantaire will be right along.”

Enjolras nods, and Grantaire watches as the blond boy leaves him alone with the headmaster.

Valjean observes Grantaire for a moment, making him feel horribly vulnerable. Then he smiles, “I want to welcome you to the school, Grantaire; I know this can’t be easy for you.”

And that… is not what Grantaire had been expecting. He blinks. “Oh,” he says, “No, it’s fine, I’m fine.”

Valjean looks at him in a somewhat suspicious manner, “Right,” he says slowly. “Well, even so, welcome. I hope you feel right at home here, and it seems you’ve already found a friend in Enjolras.”

Grantaire blinks again. “Enjolr- a friend? No, not particularly,” he says, and then wishes he hadn’t.

“He can be a little… statuesque. He’s a good boy, though. I think-, except, this is not my place. I apologise. I hope you find friends here.”

Grantaire feels a little uncomfortable by the headmaster’s words – no teacher has ever spoken so personally before, as though they were equals. He shifts on his feet. “May I go?” he asks, awkwardly.

Valjean inclines his head, “Of course.”

He stands up and walks Grantaire to the door, holding it open as Grantaire slips through and re-joins Enjolras, who is stood there waiting. A look passes between Enjolras and Grantaire, though Grantaire himself isn’t actually sure what it means.

Valjean smiles down at them both, and says, “[Enjoy your first day of lessons, boys.]”

Enjolras replies something in rapid French before leading Grantaire away. They get a short distance down the corridor when Valjean calls after them, “Oh, and Grantaire? Learn French, please.”

Grantaire blushes red and nods hurriedly. Enjolras just smirks and holds a door open for Grantaire to pass through, out of sight of the all-too-nice headmaster.

They walk in silence for a moment, Grantaire clutching his timetable in his hand. Curiosity evidently wins out, because Enjolras looks across at him and asks, “What did he want?”

Grantaire gives a half shrug, “Something about friends and feeling at home.”

Enjolras doesn’t reply for a long moment, simply staring at him, but then the boy reaches out and grabs Grantaire’s arm, pulling the both of them to a stop. Grantaire jerks to a halt and he stares at Enjolras in bewilderment.

“He’s right,” Enjolras blurts out, and his voice isn’t controlled like usual – not that there really is a _usual_ ; Grantaire’s only known him for a day. “You should find this place like a home; we all want that for you. As for friends, well I’m pretty sure Courfeyrac’s half in love with you, and Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta have all said that you’re amazing.”

Grantaire stares at him. He swallows and forces a smile, “Don’t worry about me, Apollo, I’m doing just fine.”

Enjolras pulls away abruptly and fixes his eyes ahead as they start to walk again.

A moment later, Enjolras speaks in a flat voice, “I think it’s almost lunch. Let’s meet the others in the canteen.”

\--

Enjolras sits at the other end of the table to Grantaire at lunch, talking solely to Combeferre, and Grantaire pretends that it doesn’t sting. He is, however, delighted to find Floréal sitting next to him, and she attempts to speak to him in English for a little while before they both give in, laughing, and she settles for sketching out a drawing of his hands while he was playing the piano – giving them one more thing they have in common that they can’t speak about – over lunch on a piece of paper that she pulls from the pocket on her dress and he returns the favour by quickly drawing a faceless portrait of her, her curly hair flowing down in ringlets and her jawline soft.

She gives him compliments for his work via Jehan, who’s sitting across from them, and Grantaire returns the sentiment.

Montparnasse walks past them and reaches in between them and snatches up the drawings, smirking, “[Is this romance that I see here?]” he mockingly exclaims, and Grantaire doesn’t know what he said but Floréal is blushing horribly and avoiding Grantaire’s eyes, and Enjolras is suddenly looking in their direction.

Éponine, stood with Montparnasse, punches him in the arm and grabs the paper, passing it back to Floréal gently, and saying, “[Don’t pay him any mind, the drawings are beautiful.]” and then, “[Shut the fuck up, Parnasse.]”

Floréal smiles a little and Grantaire turns to Jehan for a translation, but he just shakes his head. Grantaire shrugs and turns back to Floréal, putting his hand on top of hers and offering her a smile. She only blushes harder at that, and Montparnasse guffaws loudly.

After Montparnasse has moved away and things have settled down again, Feuilly drops into the seat next to Jehan and grins at them all. “[It’s a ‘she’ day, today,]” she announces to the table at large.

Grantaire looks round in confusion, and Jehan grins, “She said that it is a ‘she’ day today,” he explains. “Feuilly’s genderfluid.”

Grantaire’s eyebrows raise in surprise, and says, “Oh, that’s rad, okay, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Feuilly smiles at him and gives him a nod of approval.

Grantaire goes back to sketching out a completely non-specific person with blond, curling hair, crossing it out with thick lines when he feels it becomes too obvious who the ‘non-specific’ person is.

Floréal taps his hand and frowns a little, saying, “Enjolras?” quietly. Grantaire smiles and shakes his head, “[No, it’s Apollo.]”

She smiles in soft understanding and pulls the paper back towards her, flipping it over and beginning to draw flowers, twisting and turning as they crawl across the page. Grantaire watches her hands in fascination; he’s always loved watching artists at work.

The two of them don’t notice that the others have started to get up from the table, wandering away in groups, pairs, or by themselves.

Combeferre coughs, behind them, and they look up in shock to find themselves alone at the table.

Combeferre smiles at them, something almost ‘knowing’ in the smile, and he says, “[I hate to interrupt, but I think they want to clear the room.]” He repeats his sentence in English for Grantaire’s sake and both Floréal and Grantaire blush.

“[Sorry, sorry,]” Floréal mumbles, “[We got a little caught up.]”

“[Clearly,]” Combeferre replies, easily.

She grabs the drawings and shoves them back into her pocket, before throwing a smile at Grantaire and hurrying off. Grantaire watches her go with a fond smile on her face, thinking that he’s found a friend, albeit one that can’t speak his language.

Combeferre coughs again, “Are you coming?”

Grantaire starts and says, “Oh, of course, yes.”

Combeferre waits for him to get to his feet before they set off from the canteen; the clock on the wall tells Grantaire that it’s nearing two pm. “Where’s Enjolras?” Grantaire asks, for lack of anything else to say.

Combeferre gives him a look that Grantaire is helpless to translate, and replies, “He went to the library.”

Grantaire scrunches up his face in confusion and exclaims, “School hasn’t even started yet!”

Combeferre smiles down at the ground, looking loving as he says, “Enjolras is like that.”

Grantaire looks at Combeferre and feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. He looks straight ahead and asks, “So how long have you been together?”

Combeferre almost trips over his feet, “ _What_?”

Grantaire fumbles, “Are you not? I’m sorry, I just assumed-.”

But Combeferre’s laughing, laughing so hard it seems he might fall over, and he comes to a standstill, “Oh, my God, _no_.” He shakes his head at Grantaire, “No, I love that boy like crazy, but we’re not together.” 

“Oh,” is all Grantaire can say to that, and he’ll never admit to the swooping sensation that may or not be irrational _hope_.

Combeferre interrupts Grantaire's thoughts by saying, "And on that note, I'm off to see that boyfriend of mine." He gives Grantaire a wink and a short wave before leaving him.

Grantaire allows himself a small smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! (can you say ‘short chapter’ lmao sorry I acc think the end note is longer than the whole chapter)  
> Two things:  
> (1) It may have seemed like I was hating on the Combeferre/Enjolras pairing – I’M NOT! I actually really love that ship and read that so often (I’m also Combeferre/Enjolras/Grantaire trash, just putting that out there). I’m considering working in a bit of unrequited!Combeferre/Enjolras, but I might not. We’ll see how it goes. If I come up with a plot line where it makes sense then maybe. I probably won’t though.  
> (2) This is the point where I explain their ages and how the school works etc.: I am English. I go to an English school. The only school system I have an understanding of other than my own is the American one. I know NOTHING about French schools.  
> So… I’m basing this off my own school system, sorry!  
> They’re in year 12, or lower sixth, or, if you’re American, junior year. This makes them 16-17. I’ve set them all as doing what are known as A-levels in England. I don’t know if France has an equivalent or if France do A-levels (I doubt it, but who knows?).  
> That’s what I’m going with though. It shouldn’t really affect anything much, I just thought I should make it clear. I’m sorry for my ignorance and also my laziness because I could probably research Parisian schooling systems online… I just don’t want to! :)  
> I'm hoping to get another chapter up at the weekend, but no promises! Like I said, I have exams :) Hope you're all having a great week (if you've made it this far in this Godforsaken end note then you are truly incredible.)


	5. I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here

Grantaire wakes up the next morning, this time thankfully alone. He glares at the early-morning sunlight that’s streaming in through the window where he forgot to shut the curtains. He blinks groggily and rubs at his face with both hands tiredly.

He grabs his phone off the bedside table and lights up the screen: big, glaring words tell him that it’s Monday, 5:09 am, and he curses the world.

Knowing he’ll never wake up again if he goes back to sleep now, he stumbles out of the bed, and vaguely in the direction of their shared bathrooms. He’s clutching a towel in one hand and a change of clothes in the other.

The lights in the shower room are already on and there’s a shower running, and Grantaire can hear someone singing very loudly in there. He doesn’t recognise the voice, however, and choses to let them be, finding a shower cubicle of his own and turning the tap on.

He lets it run as he undresses, giving the water a chance to heat up, and as he steps into the stream he notices the voice has stopped singing. There’s a long pause, and then, “Who the fuck is up this early?” from the other person, thankfully in English.

“Uh,” Grantaire says, “You?”

“Oh, hi, Grantaire,” the voice replies, and yes, that’s definitely Courfeyrac.

“Morning, Courfeyrac.”

They fall into silence again, and Grantaire sets about rinsing his hair and desperately trying to fight the tiredness. Courfeyrac starts singing again a moment later, and Grantaire grins as he listens to his friend attempt to hold a tune.

When he gets out the shower, Courfeyrac’s still going, and Grantaire calls to him, “See you later, Courf,” getting nothing in reply. He shrugs and rubs at his hair with his towel as he walks back to his room.

As he passes through the common room, there are a few people milling about – well, two, to be precise, and Montparnasse looks like he never slept – and Grantaire sticks a hand up in greeting as he carries on to his room.

Combeferre's the one who finds him there almost an hour later, staring at the wall and chewing at his thumb nail, anxiously.

"You alright?"

Grantaire looks up, startled, "Uh, yeah, I'm fine."

Combeferre gives him a serious look over the rim of his glasses and Grantaire shrugs weakly, "Just nervous, I guess."

"Well, that's perfectly understandable," Combeferre says and Grantaire can't help but smile at the boy's sincerity. Combeferre smiles too, then, and makes Grantaire feel at ease. "Come on," Combeferre says, "The others are starting to head down for breakfast."

They reach the common room to find it completely empty, save for Enjolras. Grantaire turns to Ferre and says, "So, what you meant was everyone's gone and you need to get a fucking move on."

Ferre grins, "Pretty much, yes."

Grantaire rolls his eyes and heads for the door, Enjolras moving to follow when Combeferre grabs the blond's arm. Grantaire stops too and tries to not look too confused when Ferre speaks in French. "[He's nervous. Please, be nice.]"

Enjolras shoots Grantaire a look and then looks at Combeferre harshly, saying, "[I am capable of being a decent human being, thank you very fucking much.]"

Combeferre barely reacts to the harsh words and merely raises his eyebrows.

When Enjolras starts to walk towards the door, Grantaire falls into step beside him, a little cautiously, and Combeferre walks on Grantaire’s other side.

-

Grantaire finds his first lesson twenty minutes late. He finally burst through the door and all but shouts, "I'm so sorry!"

The whole class stares at him in shock, before a quiet round of giggling breaks out.

"[You are Grantaire?]" The teacher says and Grantaire nods, blushing.

Éponine gets to her feet and moves quickly to the front, talking quietly to the teacher. Grantaire stands there awkwardly.

Soon the teacher turns back to Grantaire and says, "You sit with Thénardier. She will translate."

The class snickers and Grantaire ducks his head as he follows Éponine to her seat. When he sits down he balls his fists to stop his hands from shaking.

Éponine places her hand on his knee under the desk and squeezes it gently.

The lesson passes fairly quickly, because it's only the first lesson it's mostly administration - introductions and rules and books.

The music room isn't the same as the one Enjolras took him too; that was a practice room. This one is a classroom, filled with desks and instruments around the side.

Éponine pushes a light blue book towards him and says, "Write your name on it," in an undertone while the teacher continues to chatter away in French.

Éponine begins to scribble down what she's saying so Grantaire can read it.

"[At the end of this year, you will have to give two performances. One in your chosen instrument, be it piano, flute, guitar, vocals. You will compose your own piece and perform it for the entire year. The second, you must take two or more songs and combine them in some way. For this you may enlist the help of anyone you wish.]"

Grantaire nudges Éponine and hisses, "Ask if it has to be in French."

Éponine's hand flies up instantly to ask.

The answer makes Grantaire sigh in relief. "[No, the performance may be in any language you choose.]"

As the bell rings and the class get to their feet, Floréal and Musichetta appear next to him and Éponine, having been sat a few rows behind them. Floréal just smiles, but Musichetta starts babbling away, “How great is this assignment? This is going to be awesome, will you guys help me with mine, what instruments can you play?” she demands of Grantaire, grinning widely and looking thrilled.

She walks him to his next lesson, modern history, which she has also, and they talk non-stop about the music assignment. Her world seems to light up when Grantaire lists off the impressive amount of instruments he can play (“Oh, but I can’t play the flute. I tried to learn but _ugh,_ y’know? It just sucks.”) and in return for his help she promises to assist with his in any way he needs.

She takes a seat beside him in the new class as the other students start to file in, and he sits up a little straighter when Enjolras and Courfeyrac come in, smiling over at them and moving in their direction to sit in front of them.

Musichetta notices this and nudges him with her elbow, wiggling her eyebrows and nodding in Enjolras’ direction. Grantaire rolls his eyes and shakes his head. She just giggles and says, “Alright, if you say so,” in a voice that clearly says that she’s not buying it for one second.

He sighs; he really needs to work on his subtlety.

This lesson is nothing like the last, because apparently their teacher doesn’t know the meaning of the term ‘easy first lesson’ and heads straight into the term’s topic.

It’s very distracting, having Enjolras sitting in front of him, because, while the blond-haired boy keeps his head down mostly, taking notes, occasionally he sits back in his chair and stretches, running a hand through his hair.

And when he sticks his arm straight into the air to ask the teacher about something, or to argue something, his voice fills the room and _God_ , Grantaire’s really starting to get a thing for the way Enjolras sounds when he’s speaking French.

Grantaire can’t help but notice that he’s not the only one who stares avidly at Enjolras every time he speaks.

A student to Enjolras’ right speaks up, in response to something Enjolras said, and the blond’s head turns in that direction, giving Grantaire a view of his profile. Enjolras bites at his lower lip as he listens and Grantaire breaths out softly, his eyes catching on the motion.

Musichetta stifles a laugh.

At the end of the lesson, Courfeyrac makes a quick exit, saying he’s got to go grab something from his room before he heads to the dining hall, leaving Enjolras packing up his books along.

Musichetta calls out to Enjolras, and he turns around in his chair to face her and Grantaire. He smiles at her, and Grantaire’s heart picks up, but only a little bit, it’s not like he’s _crushing_ on Enjolras, or anything, right?

“Could you take Grantaire to the dining hall for me? I would but I promised Cosette that I’d meet her outside her class to go see her art teacher about something.”

It sounds like bullshit to Grantaire, and he says quickly, “No it’s fine, I can go with you and Cosette.”

Enjolras glances between Chetta and Grantaire.

Musichetta presses down on Grantaire’s toes with her heel, and Grantaire winces, “No, Grantaire, go meet the others,” she insists.

Grantaire hesitates, but Enjolras jumps in with, “I don’t mind walking you to the dining hall, Grantaire, I’m going there anyway.”

Musichetta smiles, victorious, “See? It’s no trouble, Grantaire.” She swoops in and kisses Grantaire on the cheek before heading for the doorway.

Enjolras gets to his feet, swinging his bag onto his shoulder and looking down at Grantaire expectantly.

Grantaire blushes and fumbles for his bag and his books, shoving them in unceremoniously.

They walk in silence, for a while, Grantaire desperately trying to think of something to say to break the tension.

Enjolras gets there first, however, glancing at Grantaire with a smile and saying, “So Ferre mentioned that you asked how long he and I had been dating?” he says it like a question, and it’s filled with amusement.

Grantaire flushes again, “Well it’s an easy mistake to make!” he says defensively. “Surely people have made that assumption before?”

Enjolras laughs, and it’s a nice sound, one that fills Grantaire with a warm feeling, “No, not particularly.”

“So you two have never…?” Grantaire trails off, unsure of how he was going to finish that sentence.

“Never what?” Enjolras teases, “Dated? Hooked up? Drunkenly made out?” He laughs again as he shakes his head.

Grantaire keeps his eyes trained on the ground as they walk, and his face is definitely very red.

Enjolras chuckles again, and Grantaire’s eyes flash up to meet his. “I have never dated Combeferre, nor have I ever had sex with him.”

“Oh,” is all Grantaire can say in response to that – mostly because he can’t stop thinking about Enjolras fucking, well, anyone. His mind clearly hates him, because the image of Combeferre and Enjolras will simply not leave his mind.

“Actually,” Enjolras continues as they turn a corner, “I’ve never had sex with anyone.”

Grantaire can’t help but feel that this is more of a second-level friendship conversation, but he shrugs, “I can’t say the same,” he pauses and then adds, “ _At_ _all_.”

Enjolras laughs, “Oh, really?” There’s something light in his voice, and Grantaire knows immediately that Enjolras isn’t judging him for anything.

Grantaire laughs softly, “Misspent youth.” He smirks, “Good times.”

Enjolras raises one eyebrow at him. He then pulls open a door that they’ve arrived at, and stands aside to let Grantaire into the dining hall. Grantaire curtsies, mockingly, before he passes past Enjolras, and the laugh that Enjolras rewards him with is enough to make his stomach flip.

When they reach the table, Floréal grins up at Grantaire happily, and exclaims, “[Hi, Grantaire!]”

“[Hello, Floréal,]” Grantaire replies with a laugh, sitting down next to her and grinning as she throws her arms around him in a hug.

He gets drawn into a conversation with Montparnasse and Éponine who are sitting across from him, and he doesn’t notice Enjolras moving away to sit at the other end of the table. Floréal sits beside him and does her best to keep up with the conversation, joining in in English when she can. After about five minutes, however, she lapses into silence and pulls out a sketchbook from her bag and works on a pencil drawing of Éponine and Parnasse.

When the bell rings, signalling a return to lesson time, Éponine looks over the drawing and smiles, “[Can I have that?]” she asks. Floréal blushes and nods.

Grantaire grins at the slight girl and says, “Your art is really good, Floréal.”

“Thank you,” she says in return and gives him a delicate kiss on the cheek.

Someone coughs behind them, and Grantaire turns to see Enjolras standing there. “We’ve got another period of Modern History,” he says, stiffly.

“Oh, okay, one second.” He gets to his feet, offering a hand to Floréal to help her up, too.

“[Goodbye,]” Floréal says to Grantaire, turning to leave, but at the last second she turns back to Enjolras and says, “[There’s no need to look so bitter, Enjolras. You said you weren’t interested, remember?]”

The she’s gone, drifting away and getting lost in the crowd of students. Enjolras scowls at her back but then sighs and shakes his head, righting his expression into a softer one.

“What did she say?” Grantaire asks, as he and Enjolras head for their next lesson.

Enjolras shakes his head, “Nothing of any importance.”

Grantaire frowns at him, but Musichetta then skips up to them, linking her arm with his and bursting straight into a story about how she just had to take Bossuet up to the medroom because he tried to walk up the stairs while writing in his book.

She doesn’t seem too upset or worried about her boyfriend, so Grantaire takes this as something that happens regularly.

Enjolras laughs along with her as she says, “Honestly, I’m not sure why I let him walk around at all anymore. I swear that boy spends more time in the medroom than in lessons.”

There’s a fond smile on her face as she talks about Bossuet, and she still looks fond as she says, “Oh, but Joly’s going to be worried, and I’ll have to calm him down at lunch.”

Her babble about her boyfriends carry them all the way to the lesson, and Grantaire settles in for another hour of staring at the back of Enjolras’ head and occasionally reading the translation notes that Musichetta’s writing for him.

-

At lunch it seems that Grantaire’s new friends have decided to take their food outside. It is warm, so he doesn’t begrudge them of this and he settles down on the grass in between Jehan and Cosette.

Joly and Musichetta are nowhere to be found, and Grantaire assumes that they’ve gone to see Bossuet.

Cosette’s lying with her head in Marius lap while he smiles down at her fondly and weaves daisies and buttercups that he picks into her hair. Courfeyrac is braiding Jehan’s hair and Éponine and Montparnasse are having a violent game of slaps that is softened by how they kiss every time one of the slaps makes the other wince. (Grantaire’s fairly sure that Montparnasse is faking the wincing just to get another kiss.)

Enjolras and Combeferre are discussing something very seriously, and Grantaire would almost call it an argument, except they seem to be disagreeing on purpose and also seem to be really enjoying it.

Bahorel and Feuilly are laughing loudly over something on one of their phones.

Everyone is completely relaxed and Grantaire can’t help but smile at the group of people who have so easily adopted him.

Floréal appears a moment later, smiling widely at Grantaire before going to sit on Marius’ other side, talking to Cosette and Marius about something in French.

With nothing else to do but enjoy the sunlight, Grantaire pulls his sketchbook out of his bag along with a pencil.

First he draws Marius smiling down at Cosette, who’s grinning as she laughs at something Floréal said. He then draws Éponine, her head thrown back in laughter as Montparnasse curls one finger in, calling her towards him with a grin and a plead for another kiss.

He draws Courfeyrac’s fingers as the pull and twist Jehan’s hair into a delicate plait.

He draws Enjolras’ fierce expression as he says something to Combeferre, and he draws Combeferre’s ever-calm response.

The hour break moves slowly, and he loses himself in the sketches. None are perfect, he doesn’t have the time to make them perfect, but he wants to capture every single one of the people gathered there.

When Courfeyrac glances over and asks to see, he snaps the sketchbook shut as says, “I’ll show you some other time.”

Courfeyrac merely shrugs, and loses interest almost immediately when Bahorel calls, “[Fey, come look at this.]”

Aware that lunch is almost over, Grantaire packs away his sketchbook and spends the last few minutes chatting idly with a recently abandoned Jehan.

He walks with Floréal and Feuilly to the last double-period lesson of the day and finds himself immediately loving both the art classroom and the short, stocky art teacher who smiles warmly as she warns that any messing around results in an immediate dismissal for the rest of the lesson and a detention.

Grantaire thinks that he really is going to like it here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for how long it's been since I've updated. I'm an awful person. I do have a list of excuses (exams, illness, Christmas) but still. It's been a good few weeks. I solemnly swear to put a lot more effort into getting a new chapter out sooner! Can't actually make any promises, though, but I really will do my best!  
> A few things to mention -   
> Jehan is now going to be referred to with male pronouns.   
> I've realised that I wrote that R will be studying English Lit without even thinking about the fact that it's a French school. Do French school study English Lit? I find it unlikely that they do. So, in that case, does anyone know of a different subject that you think R would enjoy studying? Just give me your opinion on what you think he's likely to study!  
> Thanks for reading and, again, sorry for the delay! I hope you've all had a really great Christmas - or holiday if you don't celebrate - and a wonderful New Years celebration!


	6. Of Bookstores and Gossiping

The weekend comes around faster than Grantaire had expected and he's found himself enjoying school life.

His lessons have been good, and he's got at least one friend in each (Éponine, Chetta, and Floréal are the most common but Jehan and Courfeyrac overlap a little too.)

Grantaire drags himself out of bed at around nine and heads for the common room, not caring enough to put on a shirt first.

Someone comes running up to Grantaire as soon as he steps through the doorway and they've made it halfway through a sentence before Grantaire manages to focus enough to recognise Marius. And that he's speaking French.

"[We're all going to town today and you absolutely have to come with us, you will, won't you?]" And then, before Grantaire can say a word, "Oh, wrong language, we're going into town! You have to come, too."

Grantaire blinks, and can’t quite form words, instead he goes, “Ngghh,” or something like that, and walks past Marius to go and flop down on the sofa.

Grantaire's just settling onto the sofa when a loud voice screeches, "MARIUS!"

Grantaire assumes it's Cosette for a second before Courfeyrac comes hurtling into the room and all but throws himself into Marius' arms.

“This place is a madhouse,” Grantaire mumbles as he watches the two burst into a fast conversation in French about God knows what.

Twenty minutes, Grantaire’s sprawled out over the whole sofa while everyone else bustles around him, getting ready and chatting. His eyes are shut as he listens to his friends talk in a language he can’t understand.

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” a voice interrupts his thoughts.

Grantaire lazily opens one eye to observe Enjolras as he stares down at him with one eyebrow raised. “Why?” Grantaire asks, “Does it bother you?”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and stalks away. Grantaire snorts and gets to his feet, stretching. Someone wolf whistles and Grantaire raises a hand in recognition before going to get changed.

-

They regroup in the common room, now joined by the girls too. Cosette and Éponine are smiling at each other widely as they chat, and Cosette runs her fingers over Éponine’s skirt, clearly saying something complimentary.

Joly and Bossuet run up to him and link arms on either side with him. Grantaire pulls away immediately and mumbles, “Uh, sorry, weird request but could you not link arms with me?”

The two apologise instantly and Bossuet throws an arm around Grantaire’s shoulders, “How about this? Is this okay?”

Grantaire smiles up at him and tells him that’s okay. Joly and Bossuet grin and steer him in the direction of Musichetta.

The group of them all leave the common room, heading for the entrance hall, chatting loudly.

Grantaire looks around the group, frowning, “Where’s Floréal?” he asks the nearest person to him, who happens to be Enjolras.

Enjolras shrugs, “Cosette said she turned down the offer of coming.”

Grantaire frowns down at the ground. “Oh,” he says quietly. When he looks up, Enjolras is moving away to go stand with Combeferre, with an odd expression on his face. (Grantaire could swear it almost looked irritated, though what he’d done, he had no idea.)

 It takes a long time for them all to sign out and they have to run to catch the bus into town.

Joly’s panting loudly when they flop onto a seat at the back of the bus, the rest of their friends pilling in around them. “How,” he breathes heavily, “are you- not- out of- breath?”

Grantaire grins in response. Bossuet pats Joly on the head, saying, “Ah, my little, precious, asthmatic flower.”

Joly glares up at him, but then pulls him into a kiss. Musichetta, on the other side of the bus, crammed in between Feuilly and Jehan exclaims loudly, “They’re kissing without me!”

Bossuet and Joly laugh loudly and Joly says, “Jehan, give Chetta a kiss on the cheek for us.”

Jehan complies, merrily. Musichetta grins.

Grantaire folds himself up in his seat and stares out the window, watching the scenery go past.

A head appears in front of his face, “Alright there, Taire?”

Grantaire flinches and bats Courfeyrac’s face away, mumbling, “Don’t call me that.”

Courfeyrac shrugs, not put off, “Why not?”

Grantaire shakes his head, trying to ignore him, but it quickly becomes apparent that Courfeyrac really wants an answer. “Ask me again when I’m drunk.”

Courfeyrac frowns, “You look sad,” he observes.

Grantaire forces a wide smile onto his face, “No, I’m fine.” He tries to look as convincing as possible, but clearly fails because Courfeyrac continues to stare at him suspiciously.

Joly sighs and rolls his eyes, “Leave the man alone, Courf. Not everyone is so ‘share your feelings’ as you are.”

Grantaire gives him a thankful look, and Joly nods at him.

Courfeyrac tuts at them, and says, “Alright, alright, just showing a little concern.”

Bahorel, sat next to Courfeyrac, says, “Well don’t, Fey, he hardly knows us. You’re not going to get his life story any time soon, so don’t bother. Just give him a pat on the shoulder and offer to buy him ice cream.”

Grantaire goes back to staring out the window, not particularly liking all the attention, and can’t help but feel a little self-conscious when they then switch to French. He has no way of knowing if they’re talking about him, despite the fact that he’s picked up a few words and set phrases of French so far, and it seems unlikely that they are, but there’s always that chance.

He pulls his new phone out of his pocket and looks at the screen. No texts, obviously. He shoves the device back into his pocket bitterly. He didn’t expect his parents to message him every day, not at all, but he’d thought that after a week of being in another country, they’d have texted at least once.

Not even a ‘hope you’ve settled in okay’, or a ‘good luck in your new school’. Absolutely nothing.

The bus pulls up at a station, and Grantaire follows suit as the others quickly get to their feet and pile off the bus.

He looks around, taking in the sights, and pulls his jacket closer around him, despite it being quite warm. His feet helpfully take him along down the road, following the others, and he mainly keeps his eyes on the ground.

The first goal on his friend’s agendas is lunch, and they take him along to a cute little French café called the Musain, that sells all kinds of sandwiches and pies and cakes, and it’s all a little overwhelming.

He dallies over choosing his lunch, and finds himself stood at the counter next to Enjolras. He blushes, and stutters, “Uh, h-hey, Enjolras?”

The boy turns to him with a smile, “Yes?”

“I don’t know what any of this means,” he says in a small voice, waving one hand at all the signs.

Enjolras laughs, but it’s not an unkind one. Grantaire blinks at him. “Do you have any allergies?” Enjolras asks, and when Grantaire shakes his head he turns to the person behind the counter and orders something for Grantaire. “Here, have this.”

“How much did that cost you?” Grantaire asks, pulling his wallet out of his pocket.

Enjolras waves him away, “Don’t bother. It’s your first trip out.”

Enjolras gives him a smile before wandering away to join Courfeyrac and Combeferre at a table. Grantaire stares after him blankly. Bahorel claps him on the shoulder in solidarity, with a smile that looks more amused than sympathetic, and heads off to join Courfeyrac.

Grantaire moves in a different direction, towards Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta, one hand clutching his sandwich in one hand and his wallet in the other.

He flops down into a chair and frowns at the sandwich.

“Poisoned?” Bossuet asks him.

Grantaire rolls his eyes, “No, Enjolras bought it for me.”

There’s a beat of silence, before Musichetta smiles at him and says, “That was nice of him.”

Grantaire nods and starts to unwrap it, taking a tentative bite of the mystery sandwich.

(If he spends most of the time they sit there glancing over at Enjolras, it’s nobody’s business.)

-

“What’s your opinion on book stores?” Jehan asks later, when they’re walking down a high-street.

Grantaire shrugs, “Whatever you want to do is fine by me.”

Jehan rolls his eyes at that, but doesn’t press him any further.

That’s how the two of them end up in a small little book shop, sitting in between the stacks, Jehan half-reading a book of poetry, and Grantaire pouring over a fiction book, written in French, and trying to see if he knows _any_ of the words.

“So,” Jehan says, at long last, “What’s the deal with you and Enjolras?”

Grantaire sighs, “There’s no deal, Jehan.”

Jehan makes a humming noise as he flips a page in his book. “And what if I said that I heard him and Combeferre talking about you in the kitchen last night?”

“I’d call you a filthy liar,” Grantaire bites back and then adds, “Incroyable means incredible, right?”

Jehan nods, “Yeah.” Then, “And I’m not lying, Grantaire.”

“Sure you’re not.” Grantaire says, sarcasm dripping from the words. “And what about papillon? What does that mean? It sounds pretty.”

“Butterfly,” Jehan informs him.

“Oh,” Grantaire says, with a soft smile. “How do you say sunshine?”

Jehan smiles, “Ensoleillement, Grantaire, now focus. I’m trying to tell you important things.”

Grantaire repeats the word under his breath, then, “Fuck me, that’s hard to pronounce.”

Jehan sighs, “Look, if you focus for a few minutes, tonight I’ll teach you some French.”

Grantaire purses his lips, but then agrees, “Alright, what are you trying to tell me about my own personal ensoleillement?”

Jehan laughs, smiling brightly at him. “So,” he begins, leaning in conspiratorially, “Last night I went down to the kitchen to get a drink and a midnight snack, and Enjolras and Combeferre were sitting down there already. That’s not exactly strange, last year we spent loads of time down there, you haven’t been have you? It’s great, there’s a big table that’s great for playing cards at and you can help yourself to food.”

“You’re rambling, Jehan,” Grantaire interrupts.

“Right, yes, so they were sat down there, and I wasn’t really paying any attention to what they were saying, because to be honest I didn’t really give a shit, you know? But _then,_ I heard them mention your name.” Jehan grins at Grantaire, who frowns back.

“So? What did they say?” Grantaire prompts, despite himself.

“I’m glad you asked my little American,” Jehan smiles, “Get this: Enjolras was complaining about you and Floréal.”

Jehan’s grin gets even wider, and Grantaire frowns again. “What does that even mean, Jehan?” he says with a sigh. “For all you know he’s- actually I don’t know what, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

Jehan leans in to slap Grantaire lightly across the shoulder, “No. That boy is _jealous_.”

“You don’t know what you’re-,”

“[Are you two going to buy something or sit here gossiping?]” a voice interrupts them, and the two look up, startled.

Jehan’s on his feet in an instant, “[We’re very sorry, we got a little distracted. I’ll buy this, honest.]” He waves the poetry book.

The shop owner tuts, and walks back to the till. Jehan bursts into giggles instantly, and Grantaire gives him a confused look. “We just got in trouble,” Jehan sing-songs.

Grantaire rolls his eyes and shoves the book he’s still holding back onto the shelf, following Jehan to pay for the poetry book. “I still think you’re wrong about Enjolras. We’ve spoken maybe once each day and that’s it.”

Jehan hands over some money to the person behind the till, but raises an eyebrow at Grantaire, “Didn’t he walk you to lunch, uh, oh that’s right, almost every day this week? And I do seem to remember him willingly taking you to the music room on your second day.”

“He’s being a good headboy. He can’t actually stand me.” When Jehan opens his mouth to argue back, grabbing the bag with his book off the side, Grantaire adds, “You’ve seen the way he glares at me – when I’ve done nothing wrong as well!”

Jehan throws a thank you and a smile to the person who served him, turning back to Grantaire and saying, “Oh, that’s just Enjolras. His resting face makes him look like he’d love nothing more than to tear your throat out. I’m sure it’s not aimed at you.”

Grantaire sighs, “We’ll see about that.”

Their conversation carries them out onto the street, and Jehan leads them back to the café they started out at to meet back up with the others. They’re still arguing about it when the Musain is in sight, and Grantaire snaps, “He’s not jealous, just drop it, Jehan!”

A voice sounds from behind them, “Who’s not jealous?”

The two whirl around to see a frowning Enjolras, accompanied by a smug looking Combeferre and an amused Courfeyrac.

Grantaire fumbles for words, and Jehan looks a little dumbstruck too, but he recovers quickly, “Oh, Grantaire’s bitch of an ex. Jealous about Grantaire’s new life here.”

It’s fairly noticeable the way Grantaire stiffens at Jehan’s words and Jehan shoots him a look, but Grantaire relaxes fast and plays along, “And I’m telling you, that fucker couldn’t care less what I’m doing.”

Jehan rolls his eyes, and then nods at the entrance to the Musain, “Shall we?”

Grantaire goes in first, and he hears Enjolras speak behind him, “[Is Grantaire alright?]”

Grantaire knows that much in French at least, but he pretends he hasn’t heard. Jehan replies quickly, “[Yes, he’s fine.]”

Still, as they all sit at a table and order their coffees, Grantaire can practically feel the smugness radiating off of Jehan. Grantaire not-so-subtlety kicks Jehan under the table and the boy gives him a hurt look. Grantaire just gives him a pointed look in return.

Courfeyrac whistles, low, looking between the two, and rubs Jehan’s shoulder.

-

When they make it back to the school, Floréal is waiting in the entrance hall and whisks Grantaire away as soon as he gets there with a cry of, “I have something to show you,” her French accent thickening her English words.

Grantaire can’t help but grin as she tugs on his hand, dragging him away from the others. Bahorel wolf whistles as they go past, and they both simultaneously stick their middle fingers up at him, making the boy laugh loudly.

Grantaire determinedly doesn’t look at Enjolras.

It turns out that Floréal had chosen to spend the day in the art block.

On an easel, still drying, is a painting, clearly in her style. Grantaire can’t help the gasp that escapes him, “Oh, Floréal,” he says. “[It’s beautiful].”

She’s taken the time to depict that lunch, last Monday, where they all sat out on the grass. None of the people are in total detail, as is her way, but there’s enough to tell who is who, and the personality of each is clear. She’s even added Musichetta, Bossuet, and Joly, who hadn’t even been there.

Above the scene, in swirling hand-writing, are the words, [My Family].

Grantaire leans in and plants a kiss on her cheek. “[This is incredible,]” he tells her, proudly.

He leans in to look closer at the painting, eyes trailing over where Enjolras is.

“It’s for you,” she says, with a smile.

Grantaire looks at her in shock. “Floréal, I can’t, this is your hard work.”

“It is a gift,” she says. She takes his hand, “I know in America your family was bad. We are your family, now.”

He smiles at her and pulls her in for a tight hug. Over her shoulder, he squeezes his eyes shut and pinches his lips together, trying his hardest not to cry.

“[You are magnificent, Floréal.]” He says, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

They stay in the art room for a long time, just sketching in silence, passing the small drawings back and forth between them.

At dinner, Grantaire stays mostly silent, only speaking up when addressed directly, waving off any concerns cheerfully, and he watches his friends with a smile.

As promised, in the common room, Jehan sits with him and helps him study French.

After the informal lesson, Grantaire goes back down to the art room and collects the painting. He wishes he had a frame for it, but he decides that he’ll just buy one next time he’s on town. For now, he goes back up to his room and bluetacks it to the wall above his bed.

Before he switches the lamp off, he stares at the painting for a long time. Family, he thinks, that’s a new one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this feels like i'm rushing the whole exr fic it's just ik where i'm wanting this to go and at this rate it's gonna take like 70 chapters or smthing ridiculous and i feel like y'all wont wanna be hanging around that much ahaha  
> thanks for reading!! and thanks for all your kudos and comments that's so awesome!! :D


	7. Hug Me Tight

Now that Jehan and Grantaire have had the starting conversation, Jehan constantly pops up with new ‘evidence’. Grantaire finds this equal parts endearing and annoying.

“You know the best thing?” Jehan grins as he bounds along next to Grantaire one day, “I’m dating his best friend!”

Grantaire groans loudly, “Let it go, Jehan.”

“I’m telling you, he’s jealous of you and Floréal!” Jehan exclaims, waving his hands dramatically.

Grantaire turns on him, glaring, “Me and Floréal? There isn’t even a me and Floréal, and he sure as Hell knows that, Jehan.”

Jehan smirks, seeming totally unaffected by Grantaire’s hard look. “Oh? Does he? You know this… how?”

Grantaire rolls his eyes and starts to walk along the corridor, muttering, “I’m late for my lesson, please drop this.”

Jehan shouts down the corridor after him, “I’m gonna get Fey to talk to you about this.”

“Don’t you dare!” Grantaire shouts back, not looking back at him.

Unfortunately, it’s modern history next, so he has to deal with sitting behind the boy in question for a solid hour. As they leave, Enjolras walking just in front of him, Grantaire loudly says to Musichetta, with a laugh for added affect, “Oh my God, you’ll never guess what; Jehan asked me if Floréal and I were dating.”

Courfeyrac and Musichetta laugh too, and Grantaire’s positive Enjolras stiffened a little when Grantaire spoke.

Enjolras says, “You’re not?” but it’s barely heard since Musichetta asks at the same time, “Can you blame him?”

“I mean, damn, I’ve seen that drawing you did of her,” she adds with a grin.

He tsks, “C’mon Chetta, you know me and her are just friends. I’ll draw you, if you want. Hell, I’ll draw anyone who asks.” He knocks his shoulder against Enjolras, “Want me to draw you, too, Apollo?”

Enjolras smiles, a little forcedly, and shakes his head, but for once his eyes are trained on the ground, and he’s not looking confident.

Courfeyrac wraps an arm around Grantaire, batting his eyelashes playfully, and simpers, “Oh, Gran _taire_ , would you draw _me_?”

Grantaire rolls his eyes, laughing, but then says, “Of course I would, Courf.”

Courfeyrac beams, “Really?” he asks, delightedly.

“Sure! I mean, technically I already have,” Grantaire admits, blushing, “I probably should have asked permission, right? I mean, it wasn’t just you, it was you and Jehan-,”

“R, calm down,” Courfeyrac interrupts, “I’m sure it’s a great drawing, and you really don’t need my permission. Can I see it though?” he asks, after a brief pause.

“Y-yes of course,” Grantaire says distractedly, “Sorry, what did you just call me?”

Courfeyrac blinks, “What?”

“You just called me ‘R’?” Grantaire reminds him, uncertainly.

“Oh, right, yes, well you don’t like being called Taire, right?” Courfeyrac starts, and blunders on when Grantaire flinches at the nickname, “So, we figured, R works, right?”

“We? Who’s we?” Grantaire says, coming to a stop. The rest of his friends stop too, turning to look at him.

That’s when Enjolras speaks up, “That would be Courfeyrac and I,” he says. “I just- if you don’t like it, that’s fine. I mean, it’s sort of a pun?” Enjolras adds, trailing off like it’s a question.

Grantaire frowns at him, “How so?”

Enjolras goes a little pink and – oh is he blushing? Grantaire gets a little flustered at the thought, and forces himself to keep his eyes trained on Enjolras.

“Well, it’s a French pun; it’s not a very good one. Grantaire, grand aire, grand R, R?” Enjolras explains.

Grantaire glances at Courfeyrac, who’s grinning, and at Musichetta, who’s staring at Enjolras, and then he looks back at Enjolras. “It’s good,” he laughs softly, “Well, I’m in need of a new nickname, and this one fits well with my new life, French and all.”

Enjolras smiles back at him, and Courfeyrac claps Grantaire round the back, steering him as they begin to walk again, “So, R, about that drawing…”

Grantaire glances across at Enjolras as they walk towards the dining hall, and finds the boy smiling at nothing as they walk.

Grantaire finds it a little hard to pay attention to Courfeyrac’s words, honestly.

-

In music, he’s sitting with Éponine at a piano going over basic scales to pass the time. Musichetta is with Floréal, at a small keyboard, but they’re mostly just talking instead of actually playing.

“Ép, you sing, right?” Grantaire says, suddenly.

She nods, “Yes, I do.”

“Wanna practice?” he asks.

She frowns, “Sure, how?”

“I’ll play a note, you sing it back to me, it’s not that hard,” he tells her.

They set about the little game, Grantaire steadily making the notes harder to hit, more out of her vocal range, but he lets her off, admitting that she has quite the impressive range, and it’s a little cruel to try to make her hit notes she can’t.

“What about you?” she asks, “Can you match pitch?”

He laughs, “I have a very limited vocal range,” he tells her.

“I don’t believe you,” she answers immediately.

She sits herself down at the piano, pushing him off the stool and making him stand next to her. Grantaire rolls his eyes at her fondly as she sits straight and makes quite the show about looking proper.

He echoes the notes she’s playing, as she slowly works up the piano.

They give up fairly quickly, despite – or because of –  the fact that Grantaire can hit every note she plays (“I knew you didn’t have a limited vocal range.”) and Éponine shows off her piano skills.

Recognising the song, Grantaire joins in singing the lyrics, and pretty soon Floréal and Musichetta and some other person who introduces himself as Jacque have all joined in.

He laughs loudly and happily as they sing, and he doesn’t notice the knock at the door, or the sound of another student coming into the class and speaking with the teacher.

His teacher calls over to him, and he turns, still singing with the others, the words dying in his mouth as he sees Enjolras stood with his teacher.

He glances at the others nervously, and then hurries over to them, “Yes?” he asks.

Enjolras smiles in what he probably thinks is a reassuring way, “The headmaster would like to see you.”

“Right now?” Grantaire asks, on impulse.

Enjolras levels him with a stare, “Yes. Right now, Grantaire.”

Grantaire glances across at the teacher, who smiles at him, “Go on.”

Following Enjolras out of the room, he realises that it’s the first time they’ve been alone together since Jehan started his babbling. For some reason, that makes it even harder to stay calm and collected around the boy.

“So, how are you?” Grantaire asks, awkwardly, twisting his hands together as they walk.

Enjolras glances down at him with something of a smirk, “You saw me not half an hour ago, not much has changed.”

Grantaire blushes, but says, “Well, you never know.” Then he rolls his eyes and says, “Fine then, you pick a topic to talk about.”

Enjolras laughs, “Okay, how about: you’re a really good singer.”

Grantaire glares at him, “Not that.”

Enjolras lifts his hands in surrender, but still says, “You don’t think so?”

Grantaire shrugs, “I’m fine, nothing incredible, it’s not exactly hard, is it?”

“You haven’t heard me sing,” Enjolras says with a shrug. “Anyway, you shouldn’t put yourself down like that; you have a real talent, Grantaire.”

“What does Valjean want to see me about?” Grantaire says, instead of responding to what Enjolras had said – despite the fact that hearing that from him had sent his stomach into freefall and his mind spinning.

Enjolras clearly notices the purposeful topic change, but blessedly doesn’t mention it, instead saying, “I’m not sure.”

Grantaire nods, staring straight ahead instead of looking at Enjolras. “How come you’re on bodyguard duty instead of in class?”

Enjolras grins, “’Bodyguard duty’?”

Grantaire rolls his eyes, “Fine, escorting, whatever.”

Enjolras bites at his lip, suddenly not looking so cheerful when he carefully replies, “I was out of class at Valjean’s office anyway. Uh, family matter.”

Grantaire nods, he can understand that at least. He pauses awkwardly, but into the silence he eventually says, “Are you alright?”

Enjolras half-shrugs, “What was it you said when the others were asking about your home? ‘Ask me when I’m drunk’, or something.”

Grantaire smiles weakly up at him. He considers taking Enjolras’ hand, like he would with Floréal, or even Courfeyrac, but thinks better of it. It’s almost like Enjolras can see the concern on his face – he probably can; Grantaire’s never been very good at hiding emotions that involve other people – because he turns his face away to look directly ahead as they walk down the hallway.

They walk the rest of the way in silence.

-

Enjolras stands to the side of the room, leaning against the wall, eyes not moving from Grantaire. Grantaire knows he’s staring, can feel the weight of his gaze upon him, but he won’t look. He forces himself to look ahead, at Valjean. Grantaire’s feeling horrifically nervous just standing in the office, and when Valjean starts to talk – it doesn’t sound good.

Grantaire interrupts Valjean in the middle of a sentence, “Sir- Sorry, Monsieur, Courfeyrac has been teaching me every day, and Jehan’s been helping, and Floréal’s doing her part, along with Musichetta, and Éponine, and, well, everyone, Sir.”

Valjean purses his lips and looks at him steadily while Grantaire babbles on, “Not to mention all the time I’m listening to the language in classes, I’m doing my best, honest, I’m trying really hard.” He trails off and drops his eyes to the ground, muttering an apology. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Enjolras stand up straight, still looking at him.

Enjolras then says, “Monsieur, I can vouch for Grantaire’s hard work. You let him join the school even though you knew he didn’t speak French, and the background that he was coming from. He’s been here just short of two weeks-,”

“Enjolras,” Valjean interrupts, and Enjolras falls silent instantly. Grantaire can’t bring himself to look up just yet. “You boys have misunderstood where I was going with my words.”

Grantaire looks up instantly. His eyes slide sideways across to Enjolras for the briefest moment, and Enjolras is already looking at him.

“I wasn’t saying that you weren’t trying hard enough, Grantaire. I have it on good account from my daughter and various members of staff that you are a diligent worker. All I was going to ask you was whether you would like additional tutoring from a member of staff, perhaps after-hours or at lunches?”

“Oh,” Enjolras says, quietly, but as though he couldn’t help it.

Grantaire just stares, and then he curses under his breath, “Fuck, I thought you were going to kick me out.” He barely even registers that he swore in front of the headmaster amongst the overwhelming relief that’s coursing through him. His knees feel weak and he’s pretty sure that if he doesn’t hold onto something soon he’s going to fall.

He manages to hold himself together for a little longer as Valjean smiles at him, “Why would we expel you, Grantaire? You’ve been nothing short of exemplary, and all the students seem to like you,” he adds with a glance at Enjolras, before fixing his eyes back on Grantaire.

Grantaire struggles to not blush, not that it’s something he can really help. “Well, thank you for the offer, but for now can I decline? I’ll reconsider if I feel I need the help.”

Valjean nods, “That sounds like a good idea.”

Grantaire nods, feeling faint, and swallows.

Enjolras takes a step forwards, and then hesitates, “May I take Grantaire back to his room?” he asks, continuing in French, “[I think he’s a little unsteady.]”

Grantaire continues to stare at the floor, his mind reeling. He’s not getting kicked out; his headmaster was trying to help him out; people like him here; he’s not getting kicked out.

He distantly hears Valjean give his assent before Enjolras’ hand closes around his arm and gently pulls him from the room.

As they get outside, and the door clicks shut behind them, Enjolras pulls Grantaire to face him, placing his hands on either side of Grantaire’s face and trying to force eye contact, “R, are you okay?” he asks, sounding concerned.

Grantaire tries to push him away, “I’m fine,” he mutters. Then, after a tiny bit of consideration, “Maybe I should sit down.”

Enjolras smiles weakly at him, and says, “We’re not far from the common room, come on.”

Grantaire shakes his head, “I should go back to lesson.”

“Don’t worry,” Enjolras says, “I’ll explain to your teacher why you weren’t in afternoon class.”

Grantaire’s helpless to do anything but nod and follow when Enjolras wraps his hand around Grantaire’s wrist, tugging him along carefully.

When they reach the common room, Enjolras gets Grantaire to sit on the sofa while he fetches a bottle of water from his room for him.

Grantaire takes it off him as Enjolras sits down next to him, and after taking a gulp he frowns, “Why do you have bottled water in your room?”

Enjolras laughs at the question, “Stupid habits,” he says by way of explanation. Grantaire accepts it.

When Grantaire feels – and looks – stronger and less on-edge, Enjolras nudges his shoulder with his own and says, “Are you okay?” in a delicate voice.

Grantaire shrugs, and when he answers, his voice sounds small, “I thought I was getting kicked out. Again.”

Enjolras nods and grimaces, “Sorry.”

Grantaire shakes his head, “It’s fine.” He takes another gulp of water and shrugs, “I don’t know, I guess it’s just my go-to assumption. When I’m getting a talking to, I’m probably getting thrown out. School, home, relationships, whatever, I’m probably a goner.”

Enjolras sighs, and settles back into the sofa a little more. His arm ends up pressed against Grantaire’s. Grantaire stiffens on impulse, but after a few seconds relaxes into the touch.

“Can I ask you a question?” Enjolras says, leaning his head back against the cushions and closing his eyes. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to – and I could see why you wouldn’t; it’s a little personal.”

“Go ahead,” Grantaire says, staring at the boy who continues to relax there with his eyes lazily shut. A strand of golden hair rests on his cheek, and Grantaire wants to brush it away, but instead his eyes follow the stream of hair down to where the tips tickle Enjolras’ collarbone.

“Why don’t you like being called Taire?”

Grantaire freezes instantly, and with the way they’re sitting, he knows that Enjolras must have felt it, but Enjolras doesn’t show any signs of awareness, and Grantaire feels safe.

Even so, it’s not an easy question to answer. He wishes Enjolras hadn’t asked, and Grantaire can’t just say ‘ask me when I’m drunk’, like he did to the others, he just can’t.

In the end, after an incredibly long silence that seems to stretch on forever, he says quietly, “It’s what my ex-boyfriend used to call me.” It’s not totally a lie, but it’s not really the truth either.

Enjolras tilts his head towards him, opening his eyes a little, just enough that Grantaire knows he’s looking at him.

“One more question,” Enjolras says, and he’s talking so softly it could almost be considered whispering. “Is there more to it than just the break up?”

Grantaire doesn’t trust his voice, so he nods, pressing his lips together, and he has to duck his head and not look at Enjolras. He hears Enjolras’ sigh, and he squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself not to think about the past.

“What was his name?” Enjolras asks carefully.

Grantaire answers, and his voice is hoarse, “I thought you said that the other question was your last.”

“I’ll keep asking, as long as you keep replying,” Enjolras says, “I just, I feel like you need to get some of the crap you’re carrying around with you _out_.”

There’s definitely truth in that, but Grantaire’s not sure he can do this right here, right now, with Enjolras. Still, he eventually says it, and it’s the first time he’s said his name since the last time he saw him. “His name was Claquesous.”

Enjolras doesn’t reply at first. “How old were you when you met?”

Grantaire hesitates, now’s the time to decide how honest to be. Nothing he’s ever said has ever been met with judgement from Enjolras, but he does wonder how much Enjolras will tolerate.

He stays silent, twisting his hands together, anxiously.

Enjolras takes hold of his hands, stilling them, and Grantaire goes rigid.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire says, quietly.

“You apologise too much,” Enjolras says. Then, “Look, if you don’t want to talk to me about this, or I don’t know, if you’re even slightly not okay with any of this, tell me, Grantaire. I want to help, but if it’s not good for you, then…”

Grantaire pulls his hands away and gets to his feet, unsteadily. “I think I’m just gonna go to my room,” he says, quietly.

Enjolras looks up at him and nods.

Grantaire hesitates, and adds, “Please, I don’t think that you would, but just don’t tell anyone else about, well anything.”

Enjolras smiles, a small smile, and says, “Of course not.”

Grantaire offers him a weak answering smile, and turns to head for his room. He pulls open the door into the corridor, but turns back at the last second.

“Enjolras?” he calls over, and Enjolras looks up at him, expectantly. “Thank you,” Grantaire says, and before he turns away he catches sight of another smile forming on Enjolras’ face.

Grantaire doesn’t come out of his room for dinner, telling Jehan that he’s not feeling hungry when the boy coms along to take him down. Jehan ruffles his hair and gives him a warm smile and promises to bring something back in case he gets hungry.

Later that night, Jehan creeps into Grantaire’s room to ask if he’s really okay.

Grantaire can feel a sob building in his throat, but he manages to get the words out, “Will you stay with me?”

Jehan smiles as if his heart is braking, and he climbs into the little bed with Grantaire, petting his hair and holding him close until they both drift off to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and your wonderful comments and kudos thank you so much :D


	8. Take Care

Jehan stirs after Grantaire’s been awake for over an hour and he rolls over to face Grantaire, blinking sleepily. Grantaire smiles, his arm still around the small boy.

Jehan gives him a smile in return and speaks quietly, “How are you feeling, R?”

Grantaire attempts a shrug, but with the way they’re lying and the small bed, it’s a little difficult.

“Was it something Enjolras did? Do I need to kick his ass?” Jehan asks, his voice full of sincerity.

Grantaire can’t help but smile at that, as he says, “No, Jehan. Enjolras was… wonderful. This was past issues.”

Jehan presses their foreheads together, looking directly into his eyes, “If you ever feel this crap, R, come and find me, or Joly and Bossuet, or Floréal, or Enjolras, or literally anyone. Do you know how much everyone in this place cares about you? It’s a lot. I promise you.”

Grantaire nods, “Got it.”

Jehan plants a kiss on his forehead before turning and pulling himself out of the bed, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. He groans, “Shit, I’m late for a date,” he mock-glares at Grantaire, “See what you did?”

Grantaire props himself up on one elbow and grins at Jehan, “Damn, what if they call foul play?” he asks with a laugh.

Jehan rolls his eyes, “They both know that I am enamoured with them.”

Grantaire smiles at that, flopping back down into the bed. “I think I’m just gonna sleep all day,” he informs Jehan as the boy pulls on the jumper that he’d slipped out of during the night due to the intense body heat they’d created in the tiny little bed.

“Absolutely not,” Jehan replies. “You’ve had a night of pity and now you’re going to get back on your feet and enjoy your Saturday.”

Grantaire groans and bats Jehan’s hand away as the boy tries to ruffle his hair.

When he leaves, it’s with a warning threat of, “If you don’t get up, I’ll send Enjolras in here.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Grantaire replies, with no real venom in his voice.

Jehan laughs, closing the door behind him.

Lying in the semi-darkness, Grantaire weighs up the pros and cons of getting out of bed, and decides to stay in bed just a little longer.

It isn’t Enjolras that eventually comes and gets him up; it’s Joly and Bossuet, the pair of them crashing through his door and piling onto his bed, talking at top speed.

“Grantaire, get out of bed, we’re going to cheer you up and make you excited for the weekend,” Joly tells him with a grin.

Grantaire can’t help but smile at them – they’re just so infectious with their general happiness. “How do you plan to do that?” he asks.

Bossuet grins, and it’s almost wild, “You haven’t been on the roof yet, have you?”

Grantaire blinks and allows the image of Bossuet on the roof to sink in. “You _have_? Who the fuck let _you_ on the roof?”

Joly and Bossuet laugh loudly, and Joly shakes his head, “It would be impressive, even for him, if he managed to fall off the roof. The wall comes up to chest height and we just don’t let him sit, stand, or lean on it.”

Bossuet nods along amiably. “It’s true. There was a meeting and a contract and everything.”

Joly looks solemn as he says, “In the end it was deemed unfair to deny him the wonder that is the roof, just because there’s a chance that he might die.”

Bossuet nods at that too, and Grantaire stifles a laugh at their serious expressions. The pair light up at Grantaire’s laugh, and he wonders how he got so lucky with his new friends. He pulls himself out of bed and promises he’ll meet them in the common room in a few minutes.

Before he leaves his room he looks over at the painting Floréal did and grins. Fuck off to the past, and all, because the present is pretty damn good.

When he reaches the common room, it’s to find the rest of his friends, sprawled out around the room, most of them doing homework, and the others just lying there. Joly and Bossuet however, are standing by the door and they give Grantaire big smiles when he enters the room.

Musichetta is humming quietly to herself as she types furiously at her laptop; Floréal is curled up on the sofa next to Éponine, who is reading a large book; Enjolras and Combeferre are testing each other from a book, passing it back and forth (Enjolras looks up at Grantaire and smiles quickly, before focusing back on what he was doing). The only people not to be seen are Jehan, Bahorel, and Courfeyrac.

“What are you all doing?” Grantaire asks, making the majority of them look up from their work.

“Studying?” Musichetta says, hesitantly, as though unsure of what answer he wanted.

“Why?” he replies.

Enjolras frowns, “Because we have homework?”

Grantaire tilts his head to the side, and glances around the room, “And you’re all doing it together? On a Saturday afternoon? When it’s sunny outside?”

Éponine grins, and Montparnasse says, “Finally, a man who talks sense.”

Joly then says, “Don’t worry about them, you can join their study group another week if you want. Come on.”

Grantaire gives his friends one last look of complete disbelief before he crosses the room to Joly and Bossuet.

Bossuet claps him on the back, pulling open the door and ushering him through.

“Wait,” Enjolras calls after him, “Grantaire, can I have a word?”

Grantaire looks between Enjolras and Joly and Bossuet and shakes his head, “Sorry, not right now, uh, later?”

It could just be his imagination, but Enjolras looks quite disappointed when he replies, “Oh, sure, of course, later.” He immediately turns back to Combeferre, slipping back into French as he asks Combeferre something.

Grantaire stares at him for a second, before Joly grabs his arm and all but drags him from the room.

Joly and Bossuet look at him with a mischievous light in their eyes and Grantaire immediately starts to regret everything. “So…” Bossuet begins with a grin.

“No,” Grantaire replies instantly. “No, don’t do this, I don’t-.” He sighs, “Fine, _fine_ , say whatever you want.”

Joly beams at him, “Good. So we need to talk about Enjolras.”

Grantaire barely represses another sigh as the two lead him down a corridor.

“You like him, don’t you?” Bossuet says.

Grantaire looks at him flatly, then rolls his eyes, “Holy shit, how did you know?” he asks with zero inflections in his voice. “I’ve been trying so hard to hide it, gosh, you really caught me out there.”

Bossuet and Joly roll their eyes at the exact same time, as they usher him up a set of stairs, “There’s no need to be like that,” Joly tells him. Grantaire shrugs. “That’s not the point, anyway,” Joly says as they continue to climb the staircase, “You know he likes you back, right?”

Grantaire has to stop himself from rolling his eyes again – that would just be too many times in one conversation, even for him – and he settles for making a noise of derision and shaking his head, “Give over. Jehan’s tried to sell me on this too.”

Bossuet pull open a door for them to pass through, as he says, “So why do you think it’s wrong?”

“It just _is_ ,” Grantaire answers, thinking that that’s enough explanation and makes perfect sense. Joly and Bossuet make sounds of despair simultaneously and Grantaire sighs, “You guys aren’t doing a very good job of cheering me up.”

At that, they drop the subject instantly.

They open one more door, and come out onto the roof, into the sunlight. Grantaire spins in a circle, looking around, and can’t help but be amazed at the view. “I never want to go back to America,” he tells them, making them laugh.

“We know that’s not true,” Joly says, but with a smile.

Grantaire shrugs, not actually sure where he stands on that line. He heads over to the edge, leaning on the wall and looking straight down. Joly makes a sound of protest, and rushes forwards to make sure he doesn’t fall.

Grantaire looks at him in fond exasperation. Bossuet’s staying closer to the middle of the roof, looking out at the view, clearly in awe of it, despite how many times he must have seen it.

“This is amazing,” Grantaire says, leaning further over the edge and staring down at the drop. He then turns his eyes to the sky and grins.

Joly strays back towards Bossuet, wrapping one arm around his waist and leaning against him.

Grantaire wanders around the edge of the roof, taking in everything and desperately wishing he’d brought his sketchbook. At the very least a camera.

He hops up onto a raised ledge, where the wall is shorter and then stands on the wall; Joly all but screams, “Grantaire, no!”

Grantaire grins at him over his shoulder, lifting his arms out to the sides, stretching as the two dash up behind him nervously. Joly and Bossuet stand right behind him, unsure of whether making a grab for him is more or less likely to make him fall to his death.

“[Fuck, why did we bring him up here?]” Bossuet screeches, and Grantaire glances at him frowning.

“You’re speaking French,” he tells the boy.

Bossuet glares at him, “[I’m stressed and it’s your fault and I can’t speak English when I’m like this, asshole.]”

Joly laughs, and Grantaire shrugs, “Alright, but I have no fucking clue what you’re saying.”

Bossuet smiles reluctantly at that and Joly grins up at Grantaire. (Joly sighs in relief still when Grantaire hops down.)

“Thank you,” Bossuet says.

Grantaire replies, “Hey, English, you’re getting better at this.”

Bossuet gives him a look that clearly says ‘I will slap you’.

-

When they finally make their way down from the rooftop, in desperate need of lunch – especially Grantaire who never went to breakfast – Grantaire’s feeling happy and warm. They’d spent most of their time up there just sitting and talking, never once breaching the topic of Enjolras, and they never once ask Grantaire why he was so down. Instead they talk about everything and nothing, babbling about school work, and Joly’s aspirations of becoming a doctor, and Bossuet’s complete unawareness of what he wants to do, and they talk about their friends, and flowers, and books, and movies, and- well, everything.

Joly leads the way to the dining hall, chattering away excitedly about a new movie that’s coming out that Grantaire’s never heard of in his life, but apparently will be amazing. Grantaire comes to a stop just outside the door to the dining hall, freezing.

He glances at Joly and Bossuet worriedly, “Do you think Enjolras is in there?”

The pair exchanges a look, “Probably. Why? I thought you two were okay,” Joly says slowly.

“We are,” Grantaire says, “I think. But, he said he wanted to talk to me, and I don’t know if-,”

Joly’s expression softens and Bossuet pats Grantaire on the head, “Don’t panic. It’ll be fine.”

With that the two push him into the dining hall and steer him in the direction of the queue so that they can get their food. Grantaire grabs a sandwich that looks like ham and cheese, along with a glass of apple juice, before the three of them head to the table they all sit at.

Grantaire feels his stomach sink as he notices Enjolras, scared half to death about what he could possibly want. He tries to move to sit in between Éponine and Floréal who are smiling at him widely, motioning at him to come sit, but Joly and Bossuet are having none of it, instead directing Grantaire towards Enjolras’ end of the table, and forcing Grantaire to sit down, right in between Combeferre and Enjolras.

The two look at him in surprise, but those expressions quickly change into a smile. Joly and Bossuet, their work now done, saunter back down the table towards Musichetta, leaving Grantaire helpless and stranded with Enjolras.

“Hi,” Grantaire says quietly, not able to make eye-contact, “Do you mind if I sit here?”

Enjolras’ smile breaks into a grin, “Not at all.”

On Grantaire’s other side, Combeferre makes a noise that sounds a lot like a snigger, but when Grantaire looks round at him, his face is completely straight as he steals a chip from Courfeyrac’s plate.

Grantaire nods, smiling just a little. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel all that hungry. He picks at the sandwich awkwardly, not eating any of it, and Enjolras says, “Something wrong with your food?”

Grantaire shrugs, “Not that hungry,” he mumbles. When he finally looks up and makes eye-contact with Enjolras, the boy looks concerned for half a second, before he masks it with a smile.

Enjolras pushes his plate of chips towards Grantaire. “Have some if you want.”

Grantaire takes a chip, popping it into his mouth and chewing slowly. Their eye-contact never breaks and Grantaire suspects that he probably looks scared out of his mind. In the end, all he can say is, “You wanted to talk to me?”

Enjolras starts, glancing away for an instant, before he replies, “Yes, but not right now.”

Grantaire looks at him quizzically, “Uh, when?”

Enjolras looks down at Grantaire’s uneaten sandwich and the half-eaten plate of chips, then says, “Come on.”

He gets to his feet, and Grantaire does too, copying Enjolras’ movements.

He follows Enjolras out of the hall, glancing back at the others only once, choosing not to look again when they all give him thumbs up with cheesy grins. Combeferre’s the only one not doing so – even Montparnasse joined in.

They walk in silence, but not a comfortable one – at least, not for Grantaire. He’s on edge, fidgeting and playing with the end of the sleeve of his jumper nervously.

He works out where they’re going fairly quickly, but he doesn’t say anything, just walking silently a step behind Enjolras, watching him out of the corner of his eye.

Enjolras holds open the door to the music room, allowing Grantaire to go in first. Grantaire shoots him a nervous look as he passes him, but Enjolras smiles.

Sitting down on the piano stool, Grantaire looks up at Enjolras. Enjolras is pacing the room, and if Grantaire didn’t know better, that would seem to be a sign of nervousness.

Enjolras stops suddenly, turning to face Grantaire and looking deathly serious. “Grantaire,” he begins. Then he stops again. He sighs heavily, and Grantaire feels a growing sense of concern for the boy as he scrunches his face up.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, getting to his feet and moving to stand in front of the blond-haired boy, “You need to calm down – you’re giving yourself an aneurism.”

Enjolras lets out a heavy sigh and looks at Grantaire, “R,” he says, quietly, and Grantaire freezes where he stands, completely unable to look away from the blue eyes that are fixed on him. “R,” he says again, “I don’t want you to be afraid, or upset or nervous. Yesterday you seemed very… overwhelmed? Fuck, I don’t know what I’m doing, but I want to help, Grantaire. I want to help you.”

Grantaire stares at him for a long moment, letting it sink in, and then he blinks. “What makes you think I want your help?”

Enjolras stares back at him, “Well, I just thought-,”

“What?” Grantaire asks, frowning as he tries to understand where Enjolras is coming from. “Apollo, you don’t know the first thing about me. I am _not_ fixable.”

“I’m not saying you are,” Enjolras blurts, and then closes his eyes for a second, breathing out sharply. He opens his eyes again, “That’s not what I meant either.”

Grantaire just looks at him, taking a step back, crossing his arms, “What _did_ you mean?”

“I _meant_ that I don’t think that I can just fix you magically, Grantaire, I mean that I want to _help,_ ” Enjolras tries to explain, sounding exasperated.

“How, Enjolras?” Grantaire sighs, “How do you plan on doing that?”

“I want you to talk to me, R, I want you to tell me when you’re feeling bad, and I want to help you feel _home_ here,” Enjolras reels off, looking and sounding desperate for Grantaire to understand. He reaches out and wraps his hand around Grantaire’s wrist, “Grantaire, I- I don’t want you to feel like you’re on your own.”

Grantaire pulls away. He looks down at the ground, instead of at Enjolras as he says, “Apollo, I know that you mean well, I really do, but I can’t- I can’t have this conversation. I don’t think you understand.”

Enjolras doesn’t reply, but he’s not walking away either. Grantaire glances up for barely a second, but it’s long enough to see the way Enjolras is looking at him. A mixture of sadness and worry is etched clearly into Enjolras’ expression, and Grantaire’s stomach twists. He forces a smile onto his face as he fixes his eyes on Enjolras’ face, “I’m fine,” he declares, “You have no reason to worry about me.”

“I don’t think I can help it,” Enjolras all but whispers and Grantaire wants nothing more than to pull him in and hug him tight.

“I promise I’m okay,” Grantaire lies, “And if I’m not, I have no shortage of people to talk to, Apollo. Don’t stress your pretty head out over me.”

Enjolras nods weakly, not looking at all convinced, and Grantaire offers him a small smile. “I guess I’ll go, then,” Enjolras says quietly. Before he turns to leave, he looks at Grantaire one last time, “Just- Take care of yourself, R. Don’t try to survive on your own. I’m always here to talk to.”

Grantaire nods, and Enjolras seems to take that as enough because he immediately spins on his heel and leaves the room quickly.

Grantaire flops down into the piano stool immediately, certain that his legs simply won’t hold him up. Holy shit, he really needs to talk to Combeferre.

Instead he turns to the piano and shatters the silence with music, running his fingers up and down the keys.

Finally, he heads back to the common room, sitting down in between Joly and Feuilly, purposefully not looking in Enjolras’ direction. He pulls his knees up to his chest as Joly puts an arm around his shoulders, giving him a squeeze, delicately not saying anything.

Feuilly then grins at Grantaire and draws him into a conversation about their art project, beginning with the words, “Now, I don’t know about you but…”

The conversation lasts them through until dinner time, and as the group clatter down the stairs together, Grantaire’s smiling widely.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always thank you so so much for reading you're all more wonderful than i can say   
> i hope you've had a great week and that your weekend is equally delightful!


	9. It's Burning My Heart

Floréal finds him in the art room, frowning down at a sheet of paper. He’s twirling a pencil around in between his fingers and cursing silently at the white paper. “Floréal,” he says slowly, “Why did I choose to study art?”

He looks up at her despairingly, and she smiles at him softly, “Because you’re good, Grantaire.”

He nods once and goes back to staring at the page. She goes across and sits next to him, quietly. After a while, she puts one hand on top of Grantaire’s. “Stop, Grantaire. It’s five o’clock.”

“[You’re right,]” he replies, “[Tomorrow.]”

She helps him pack away his things, and together they walk back to the common room, Grantaire feeling more exhausted than he has in weeks.

At some point along the way, he slips his hand into hers, and she smiles at him as she leads him down the corridor to where comfortable sofas await.

Their hands are still joined when they get there and Grantaire notices – but doesn’t think anything of – the way Enjolras’ eyes look between the two of them, and then down at their joined hands. He also notices the small frown on Enjolras’ face, and the faint blush on Floréal’s cheeks, but Grantaire’s too exhausted to add two and two together as he pulls Floréal across to the nearest empty sofa and collapses onto it, dragging her down with him.

The room is empty save for them and Enjolras, and Grantaire curls up, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her in. She smiles at him and pets his hair gently. She says something to him that he doesn’t quite catch as his eyes slide shut.

Grantaire drifts off to sleep, barely registering the sound of Enjolras and Floréal talking.

“[Don’t hurt him, Floréal.]”

“[He’s not mine to hurt.]”

-

When Grantaire comes to, he blinks groggily and rubs at his eyes. Floréal is snoozing on the couch beside him and he smiles tiredly at her, too content to even think about waking her up.

He lifts his eyes too look around the room, finding Combeferre to be the only person in the room, carefully setting up a game of solitaire on a small table. Combeferre’s eyes jump up to meet his when Grantaire stirs, nodding at him in greeting.

Grantaire smiles back as he carefully moves Floréal’s arm from around his waist.

He clambers to his feet, stretching and yawning. “Wha’ time’s it?” he slurs.

Combeferre looks up at him in slight amusement, “Nearly seven.”

“We slept for two hours?” Grantaire asks.

Combeferre nods, then considers it, “Well,” he says, “You slept for two hours. Floréal woke up when everyone was in here, and I’m pretty sure you did too, but you just made mumbling noises and wouldn’t let her move, so here you are.”

Grantaire flushes red at that, and feels like he wants to die when Combeferre then adds, “Everyone found it very adorable, R. Enjolras more than anyone.”

He gives Grantaire a pointed look, and Grantaire stares down at his feet. Combeferre gets to his feet too, then, abandoning his cards. “If you’re planning on eating, you should head down now before everything’s gone.”

Grantaire immediately turns to shake Floréal awake gently, “Hey, Flor,” he says quietly, “[Do you want to go and get dinner?]”

She nods sleepily, and holds out a hand for Grantaire to help her to her feet.

Grantaire glances at Combeferre, “You coming?”

Combeferre shakes his head, “No, and don’t worry; Enjolras won’t be there either. He’s with Valjean and Cosette.”

Grantaire frowns, “Why?”

It’s Combeferre’s turn to frown then, “Because they’re his adoptive family?”

Grantaire blinks, “Wait, really?”

Combeferre shakes his head, laughing slightly, “Unbelievable.” He raises one eyebrow at Grantaire, “Yes. Really. You should ask him about it sometime.”

Grantaire nods, distractedly, wondering if he’d ever find himself in a situation where that wouldn’t be an awkward conversation.

Floréal tugs at his sleeve, “Dinner,” she mumbles, and Grantaire looks at her with a grin.

“Alright, Sleeping Beauty, [let’s go.]”

She manages a little laugh at that as he holds the door open for her.

Grantaire glances back as he leaves, finding Combeferre staring after him with an unreadable expression on his face. Grantaire simply gives a little wave, letting the door swing shut behind him.

-

Part way through dinner, Éponine turns to Grantaire, “Hey, R, you wanna come over to the girl’s dorm tonight? We’re having a movie night.”

Grantaire startles, “When you say ‘we’…?”

She shrugs, “Me, Chetta, Cosette, Floréal, Jehan, and… you?”

“Eh, why not,” Grantaire says with a smile, and she gives him a wide grin in return.

“Perfect,” she crows, immediately turning to Musichetta on her left and launching into a conversation in French that’s much too fast for Grantaire to keep up with.

Grantaire goes back to eating his food and next to him Floréal starts singing under her breath as she doodles flowers on her arm. Grantaire smiles, listening to her, and looks around the table. True to Combeferre’s word, Enjolras is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Cosette – but that’s not really an issue. Courfeyrac is sitting in between Jehan and Bahorel, instead of across from then next to Combeferre like he usually would be. Jehan keeps stealing chips off Courfeyrac’s plate, and either he hasn’t noticed, or he doesn’t mind.

Grantaire heads back to his own room straight after dinner, promising the girls he’ll go over to theirs after he’s grabbed some things.

Jehan comes with him, and the two of them talk happily as they wander through the common room, not even glancing at any of the others – not out of rudeness, purely due to how caught up in their conversation they are.

“Meet you in the common room,” Jehan says as he ducks into his room while Grantaire carries on to his own room.

Grantaire spends a little longer in his room than intended and he careers out of his room and sprints down the hallway.

Grantaire doesn't even have time to get his hands up when someone throws their door open, it swinging out into the corridor and straight into Grantaire's face.

He staggers backwards, clutching at his nose and spitting curses.

Bossuet's worried face appears and Grantaire glares at him, crying out, "What the fuck? The doors open inwards!"

Bossuet bites his lip, "I know, I broke my door last night, and Bahorel and I tried to fix it, and this was the best we could manage." He looks distraught as he pushes his door closed and advances on Grantaire, hands out as though to clutch at Grantaire’s face.

Grantaire bats him away, one hand clutching at his nose. “Shit, that hurts!” he exclaims.

A door opens a little way down and Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac stick their heads out. “Everything alright?” Courfeyrac asks.

Combeferre looks concerned as he spots Grantaire clutching at his face and Bossuet looking upset. Enjolras takes a step into the hallway, closely followed by the other two. Courfeyrac puts an arm around Bossuet while Enjolras steps closer to Grantaire, “What happened?”

“This idiot whacked me in the face with his door!” Grantaire yells.

Bossuet’s lip trembles and he looks close to tears when he says, “I didn’t mean to!”

Grantaire immediately feels guilty but the pain makes him see red and he snaps, “Well, obviously, but it still fucking hurt.”

Bossuet blushes and stammers out an apology. Courfeyrac gives Grantaire a hard look and says, “It wasn’t Bossuet’s fault, R, don’t be unkind.”

Grantaire just gives Courfeyrac a glare in return and pushes past them, heading for the common room, seething.

Jehan grins as he comes through the door, but the smile falters as he sees Grantaire’s expression, “What happened?”

Grantaire growls, “Nothing,” and walks across to where Joly is sitting. He looks down at him, “Tell Bossuet I’m sorry and I’ll apologise to him tomorrow.” Ignoring Joly’s concerned and confused expression, Grantaire heads for the doorway, but he doesn’t manage to get through the door before Enjolras comes storming into the common room, shouting for him.

“Grantaire, that was totally and completely unacceptable!” he shouts.

Grantaire takes a deep breath and counts to ten, one hand on the door. He’s shaking and can’t stop.

“I won’t let you treat my friends like that,” Enjolras yells, followed by, “Turn around and fucking look at me, Grantaire!”

He can’t. He can’t. He just can’t. He keeps his hand on the door and closes his eyes, but when Enjolras then says, “I don’t give a fuck what kind of bullshit you’re dealing with, it does not give you an excuse to treat other people like that,” he loses it.

Whirling round on Enjolras, he’s furious, “I know that,” he growls, “I fucking know that, but honestly? Right now I’m considering punching you. Tomorrow I’m gonna feel guilty as fuck and I’m gonna fucking apologise to my friend but right now I can’t.”

Enjolras looks at him with cool regard, “That’s not good enough,” he states, “You made my friend cry, and I won’t allow it. Go and apologise _now_.”

Joly jumps to his feet, adding two and two together and sprints for the bedrooms after Bossuet. Grantaire watches him go and tries to stop himself from shaking. “I can’t, Apollo. I can’t.” he tells Enjolras. His anger hasn’t even slightly receded, and he glares at Enjolras fiercely, “And you know what? You’re full of shit.”

Enjolras frowns, not understanding, and Grantaire doesn’t even hesitate when he spits, “Everything you said in the music room? Bullshit. You can’t deal with this level of messed up, because you don’t know a single fucking thing about this. Look at you. Pretty head boy, not a single care in the world. You’re smart, good-looking, have so many amazing friends, and haven’t ever had to deal with the crappy parts of life. So fuck off with your judgement.”

He spins on his heel and yanks the door open, storming out of the room, not really sure where he’s going, because he’s certain he can’t go to the girls now.

He goes round three corners before falling against a wall and sinking to the floor, shaking and sobbing.

Jehan finds him and sits patiently next to him, not moving to touch him. When he first arrived he quietly asked if he could hug Grantaire, but when Grantaire had said no, he hadn’t pressed the issue.

Eventually, Grantaire looks up, and he’s not really calmed down all that much, “I’m just so pissed off,” he tells Jehan.

Jehan makes an inquisitive noise, leaning back on his hands, “Why is that?”

Grantaire pauses, thinking about it, “Well, first of all, Enjolras seems to think that my problems are fucking fixable.”

Jehan just continues to look at him steadily, not seeming to be judging him, but also not seeming to be with him on this. “Why is it that this annoys you?”

“He just- He thinks that if I open up to him, everything will start getting better, and yes I’m grateful that he _wants_ to help, it’s just, it reminds me so much of therapy that I fucking hate it. And I really am sorry for yelling at Bossuet, it’s just I was in a bad mood earlier, and then I was in a really good mood, and then I got hit – by a door, yes, but still – and I got so pissed off, and then Enjolras was yelling at me and then-,”

“Grantaire, please let me hug you,” Jehan interrupts.

Grantaire stops midsentence, and then holds out his arms, allowing Jehan to fold himself up in them, clinging to him. When he pulls away, he looks at Grantaire seriously, “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to go back to the common room and find Bossuet. I won’t let Joly hurt you, and you’re going to apologise. _Then_ ,” he carries on, when Grantaire opens his mouth, “We’re going to go and apologise to Enjolras.”

Grantaire stiffens, “No,” he says flatly. “I’ll apologise to Bossuet, but I can’t apologise to _him_ yet.”

Jehan raises an eyebrow, “You can and you will.” Grantaire sighs but lets Jehan pull him to his feet. “You’re going to apologise to Enjolras, and I’m not going to let him talk to you.”

Grantaire nods slowly, “Okay…”

Jehan smiles, “Good. After that, we’re going to go and enjoy our movie night with the girls.”

-

Bossuet and Joly are curled up on Bossuet’s bed when they get there, and Bossuet looks so terribly sad that Grantaire feels _awful_. He immediately blurts out, “I’m so sorry.”

Joly glares up at him, and Bossuet sniffs.

Grantaire thinks he might start crying any minute, too. “I’m so, so sorry. You’ve been so great to me and then I got so pissed off over something that was an accident and I’m so sorry.”

Bossuet shrugs, “It’s alright.” Joly makes a scathing noise.

“No it’s not,” Grantaire presses. “It’s really not, I was such an asshole, and I’m really sorry.”

Bossuet’s lips start to curve up in a small smile, and relief floods through him. Joly looks a little softer, too. “Come give me a hug and I’ll forgive you,” Bossuet says.

Grantaire doesn’t hesitate before piling onto the bed and wrapping his arms around his two friends. They hug back tightly, and hey, Grantaire thinks, at least he didn’t fuck up in an unfixable way this time.

The problem is, next up he has to apologise to Enjolras, and he really doesn’t want to do that. He knows that he should, though.

Jehan leads him to Enjolras’ room and knocks on the door. Combeferre’s the one who opens it, and Grantaire isn’t at all surprised. Jehan steps back and leaves it all up to Grantaire.

“Uh,” Grantaire starts, and Combeferre looks down at him, unimpressed. “Is he willing to talk to me?”

Combeferre puts on a mock expression of thinking hard about something, “Oh, let me think… _No_.”

Grantaire’s heart sinks, “Look, I’m really sorry for what I said. I shouldn’t have said that and I didn’t mean it at all-,”

The door is yanked open fully then, to reveal Enjolras looking exhausted and very young. Grantaire stops short. He then addresses Enjolras, “I’m so sorry; I don’t know anything about your life or you and I shouldn’t have said those things. I know that I can’t really expect it of you, but I hope you can forgive me.”

The words sound forced to his ears, but Enjolras’ face softens a little. He glances between Combeferre, Jehan, and Grantaire, and then over his shoulder at Courfeyrac. “Can you guys give me and Grantaire a moment?” he asks them.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Jehan says, as Combeferre says, “No.”

Enjolras gives them both a look, “We won’t fight.”

“I don’t believe you,” Courfeyrac says, coming up behind him.

“Neither do I,” Combeferre adds.

“Please?” Enjolras pleads.

Jehan looks at Grantaire sharply, “Are you okay with this?” Grantaire nods, not trusting his voice, and Jehan says, “If he starts yelling, walk right the fuck out.” Grantaire nods again while Enjolras makes an indignant noise.

Courfeyrac follows Jehan through to the common room, but Combeferre dallies a little, clearly unsure of what to do. Enjolras reaches out and touches Combeferre’s arm lightly, “[I’ll be fine,]” he says quietly.

“[Promise?]” Combeferre asks, and Enjolras just smiles at him in return. That must be enough for Combeferre because he then leaves.

Enjolras steps aside to let Grantaire into his room, and then shuts the door behind them. Enjolras gestures at a chair, which Grantaire refuses. Enjolras sighs and walks to sit down on his bed, leaving Grantaire standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“I’m sorry.” Grantaire blurts out.

“Me too,” Enjolras says, quietly.

Grantaire looks at Enjolras oddly, “Why are you sorry?”

Enjolras runs a hand over his face, and sighs, “I shouldn’t have tried to get involved in things that I’m not.”

Grantaire looks at Enjolras for a long moment before he moves to sit down on the end of the bed. “No, you shouldn’t have,” Grantaire says, “But I’m glad that you did.”

Enjolras shoots him a disbelieving look, so Grantaire then says, “You were only trying to be nice, as always.”

Enjolras shrugs, a little pathetically, “I just want to help.”

“I know, Apollo,” Grantaire says with a small smile.

“Why Apollo?” Enjolras asks then, “Why a God?”

Grantaire thinks about it, “I'm just a boy with an obsession that lies in mortality.”

“But the Gods were immortal." Enjolras frowns.

“And yet you just referred to them in past tense,” Grantaire points out in response. “There are other reasons, anyway. Besides, that’s not what we’re talking about.”

“What are we talking about?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire resists the urge to take Enjolras’ hand, and he says softly, “My issues are not your story.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Enjolras replies. Then he sighs, “No. I do. I know what you mean, and I’m not trying to make them ‘my story’.”

Grantaire nods, “Okay.”

Enjolras groans in frustration, and leans back against the wall, not taking his eyes off Grantaire, “You have every right to deal with your past however you want.”

“Correct,” Grantaire says, and fixes him with a stare, “Even if it’s a way you don’t like.”

Enjolras nods.

Grantaire then does reach out and place a hand on top of Enjolras’. Enjolras looks at him in surprise.

“I don’t, however, have the right to yell at people who have nothing but good intentions, and I don’t have the right to say your life is easy.”

Enjolras smiles, and squeezes Grantaire’s hand, “That is also correct,” he says.

Grantaire then gets to his feet, “I’m glad that’s mostly worked out.”

Enjolras smiles again, “Me too.” He gets to his feet as well, looking at Grantaire with an expression that Grantaire can only describe as _hopeful_. “Do you want to-,” he breaks off and shifts a little on his feet, “I mean, if you don’t then that’s fine, but I was wondering if you wanted to-,” he stops again, and runs a hand through his hair, anxiously.

Grantaire smiles, and looks at the boy in front of him, and _oh shit this is bad I really like this guy_ , and he says, “I’ve got plans with the girls tonight.”

Enjolras’ face falls, but there’s also a small amount of relief in his expression, and Grantaire can’t resist smiling at that.

“Maybe some other time?” Grantaire prompts. Enjolras nods, not saying anything else.

Grantaire takes his leave then, with one last smile at Enjolras.

-

Jehan pushes him down onto the sofa in the girl’s common room, where the girls are already part way through Marvel’s Avengers. He turns to the girls with a wide grin and says, “You have to hear this.”

They all shush him immediately, concentrating on the screen where Loki is standing proudly before a crowd of kneeling citizens.

Jehan whines, “Guys, _no_.”

Éponine looks at him in a way that can only be described as murderous.

“After the film?” Jehan asks.

“After the film,” Éponine confirms, and Jehan settles himself down in between Grantaire and Musichetta, resigning himself to watching the movie. Grantaire is incredibly grateful to Éponine in that moment, because he’s not sure he can recount what just happened quite yet.

It had almost seemed like Enjolras was trying to- no. No, of course not. That would be ridiculous. He was just being friendly; anything he was about to suggest was completely platonic. Still…

Grantaire stops the thought in its tracks and focusses on watching Captain America fight Loki.

The movie simply isn’t long enough to make Jehan forget to talk, though, and as soon as the end credits roll, he hits pause and stands up, turning to face them all with a grin.

“Enjolras just tried to ask R out,” he declares, while Grantaire goes bright red.

“That’s not what-,” Grantaire starts to protest, the rest of his sentence getting drowned out in Éponine’s squeal.

“Why didn’t you say something?” She exclaims.

Jehan gives her a disapproving stare, “I seem to remember _someone_ telling me to-,”

“Yes, yes, I get it,” she waves him off, and then, “So? Tell us everything!”

Grantaire sighs and begins his retelling of what had happened, including the fight – he apologises to Musichetta for making Bossuet upset and she forgives him with a kind smile, since he apologised and Bossuet himself has already forgive him.

By the time he’s done, all the girls are grinning unabashedly at him.

Floréal asks Musichetta a couple of questions in French, having had a little difficulty keeping up, and Grantaire stares at his knees as she gets caught up. Eventually she turns to him with an unimpressed look on her face, “Why didn’t you go with him?”

Grantaire sighs, “I promised I’d be here.”

“That’s the only reason?” Cosette asks.

“No,” Grantaire replies.

They don’t ask him anything else; instead they lapse into silence for a long time, until Éponine gets to her feet and goes to put on another film.

Unfortunately, they don’t get more than a quarter of the way into the movie before someone just _has_ to bring up Enjolras again.

“Can we talk about when you two were snuggling up on the couch?” Cosette says with a devilish grin aimed at Floréal and Grantaire, interrupting the movie.

Jehan almost chokes on the piece of chocolate he has in his mouth. “Oh, fuck, you should have seen his face!”

Floréal blushes. “Don’t do this, this is unkind!”

Éponine rolls her eyes at Floréal as she pauses the movie, turning to face Grantaire, who has gone bright red.

“I’m with Floréal on this,” he says. “Let’s just not, yeah?”

Floréal gives him a tight hug then, and he wraps his arms around her too. Jehan shrugs, simply saying, “I just think there’s more to be said.”

Cosette nods, but Grantaire answers, “If you don’t stop, I’m going back to my own room.”

They let off at that, allowing him to enjoy the movie marathon. He stays curled up with Floréal for the duration of his stay.

When it’s getting on towards two am, Grantaire excuses himself, heading back to his dorm, leaving Jehan behind. As he walks, he wonders idly why it is that Jehan sometimes sleeps in one dorm, and other times in the other. He decides it doesn’t matter all that much, attempting to blink away his tiredness as he stumbles along.

He doesn’t make it further than the empty common room, collapsing onto the sofa. He’s snoring within minutes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait! i'm just generally discontented with this chapter so i kept staring at it but i'm just doing it now idc i'm gonna move on to the next chapter. the upside is i did get a few moments and conversations into this chapter that i wanted to happen.  
> (also that opening line? me and my friends have that conversation a lot - any other art students will understand)  
> thank you for reading i hope you've had a good week!!!


	10. Learn To Float

Grantaire doesn’t talk to Enjolras for two days after that; he barely sees the boy. Not entirely sure whether he’s being avoided or not, he doesn’t bring it up to anyone. The truth is that he’s a little upset about it. Jehan himself had thought that Enjolras was asking him out – if that was the case, why would Enjolras avoid talking to him?

He deals, however.

The days pass slowly, and every time he catches a glimpse of Enjolras, the boy disappears almost as fast as he arrives.

The worst moment was when Enjolras walked into modern history, took one look at his usual place, with Grantaire sat behind, and went to sit on the other side of the room. Grantaire had stared down at his desk and tried to pretend that it didn’t bother him.

It did.

Three days later, after an entire week of not speaking to Enjolras, he’s woken in the middle of the night.

He jolts awake, and lets out a muffles sound against the hand pressed to his mouth. The person starts talking the second he’s awake. “Don’t panic, it’s me, Enjolras, I’m going to move away right now.”

True to his word, the hand vanishes and Grantaire hears the person – Enjolras – backing away from the bed quickly. Flicking on the light, Grantaire sees Enjolras standing against the wall on the other side of the room.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Grantaire hisses, “but what are you doing in my room at-” he glances at the clock “-half twelve at night?”

Enjolras gives a half shrug. “I wanted to show you something.”

Grantaire stares at him and has to pinch his arm to check he’s not dreaming. “Uh- Okay, what is it, Enjolras?”

“Do you have swim stuff with you?”

-

Half an hour later, the two of them are standing by a darkened swimming pool, grinning unashamedly.

“Are we even allowed to be here?” Grantaire asks, his voice echoing through the room.

“Nope,” Enjolras admits, and then pushes Grantaire into the water.

He lands with a splash and a yell that gets drowned out in the water, and he comes up for air spluttering. “You bastard!” he shouts.

Enjolras lets out a shout of laughter as Grantaire glares up at him, treading water to keep himself afloat.

When he realises that Enjolras isn’t going to stop laughing at him for a while, Grantaire grins up at him, swimming over to hold onto the wall. Enjolras tries to pull himself together, and Grantaire rolls his eyes.

“Race you to the other side!” Grantaire shouts before pushing off from the wall and swimming in the other direction as fast as he can.

It takes Enjolras a second to catch up with what he said, but the second he does, he dives in after him. It doesn’t take Enjolras long to overtake Grantaire, and when he reaches the other side he lets out a victorious shout of, “Take that you American fucker!”

Grantaire has to stop swimming for a moment, at risk of swallowing half the pool in his laughter. Grantaire still can’t reach the bottom of the pool, despite being in the slightly shallower end, and he slowly swims over to Enjolras to cling to the side. “Oh, my God,” he laughs. “That was sorta insane.”

Enjolras laughs and it’s such a beautiful sound to Grantaire. “Do you like it?” Enjolras asks.

“The pool? I love it,” Grantaire says with a wide grin. “I didn’t even know we _had_ a pool.”

Enjolras is standing, the water lapping at the top of his shoulders, and Grantaire manages to stand on his tiptoes, the water reaching his chin. “You’re tall,” Grantaire says, frowning a little.

Enjolras laughs again, and that’s all Grantaire wants for the rest of forever. “I’m not tall,” Enjolras says. “You’re just very short.”

Grantaire glares up at him, ineffectively, and Enjolras snorts. Patting Grantaire on the top of the head he sarcastically says, “Don’t worry about it; there’s plenty of time for you to grow yet.”

“Oh, my God,” Grantaire laughs, grabbing Enjolras’ wrist, “that is it,” he tells the other boy, attempting to pull him out towards the middle of the pool. Enjolras goes willingly, laughing loudly, and when Grantaire shoves him under the water he doesn’t fight it.

Enjolras resurfaces, coughing and spluttering, his blond hair plastered to his face, and Grantaire brushes it out of the way. Enjolras retaliates instantly by diving on top of Grantaire, forcing him under the water and going down with him. Enjolras legs are wrapped around Grantaire’s waist as they sink beneath the water and Grantaire’s heart pounds uncontrollably.

They both come up to the surface, laughing and pushing their wet hair out of their faces to grin at each other.

“Can you do a forwards roll underwater?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Piece of cake.”

He demonstrates just how easy it is, and Grantaire watches him avidly. When he comes back up, Grantaire tells him, “I could never do that. I always panicked and ended up backing out of it.” He hesitates a second, before adding, “Claquesous was real good at it, though.”

Enjolras, to his eternal credit, doesn’t make a big deal out of the name-drop, instead asking, “How good are you at diving?” with a raised eyebrow.

Grantaire grins. “So good,” he replies, starting to swim in the direction of the deep end. Enjolras laughs and follows.

Over half an hour later, the two of them are lying on their backs, floating on the surface of the water. “Enjolras?” Grantaire asks, quietly. Enjolras hums a response, and Grantaire says, “This is really cool. I- Thank you.”

Enjolras doesn’t respond for a moment, and Grantaire closes his eyes.

“That’s alright,” Enjolras says eventually. “We should probably go,” he then adds, sounding tired.

Grantaire agrees and the two of them head for the changing rooms, getting dressed in silence. As they walk back to their common room, neither one of them speak.

In the common room, Enjolras turns to look at him with a soft smile. “Tonight was fun,” he says.

“It really was,” Grantaire agrees. Every moment that he looks at Enjolras, he wants to ask where he’s been all week. Wants to demand why the sudden change. Wants to-

“Goodnight, Grantaire,” Enjolras interrupts his thoughts. He turns to go, then turns back. Shifting his weight onto the other leg, he wrings his hands together slightly. He seems on the edge of saying something, and Grantaire stays silent, watching him carefully. Enjolras lets out a sigh and stills.

Then he takes a determined step forwards and leans in to kiss Grantaire on the cheek. When he pulls back, he avoids looking at Grantaire, instead hurrying from the room.

“Well,” a voice behind Grantaire drawls. “I sure didn’t expect that so soon.”

Grantaire whirls round to see Montparnasse lying flat out on the sofa, almost unnoticeable in the dark room. He curses and asks, exasperatedly, “Do you _ever_ sleep?”

Montparnasse laughs, softly, sitting up. Grantaire tilts his head, looking at him. Struggling with what to say, there’s a long pause, a lull in the conversation, until Grantaire finally says, “Don’t tell anyone. I don’t know what’s going on, any more than you do.”

Montparnasse gets to his feet, crossing the room elegantly. He places one hand on Grantaire’s shoulder and looks at him carefully. “Be careful,” he says, seriously. Grantaire just stares back at him, unsure of how to respond.

Montparnasse gives him a half-smile, wandering away, heading back to his sofa. “[I’d hate for you to burn yourself,]” he says.

Grantaire frowns, not being able to translate, but lets it lie, instead turning and heading for his room.

-

Grantaire oversleeps the next morning, most likely due to the late night physical exercise (though not the kind that he likes the most), and when he finally rolls out of bed, he’s wasted a perfectly good Saturday.

It’s almost 3pm, and he’s a little surprised that no one has come to force him out of bed yet. Wandering through to the living room, he’s accosted by Jehan, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pressing his nose to it.

Grantaire tries to pull away. “What the _fuck_?”

Jehan drops his hair, looking thrilled. “You smell like chlorine,” he informs him.

Grantaire groans internally but feigns outward nonchalance. “So?”

“Well, Grantaire,” Jehan says, “there is only one reason you would smell like chlorine, and that would be because you went swimming.”

“I still don’t see where this is going,” Grantaire narrates, rolling his eyes, internally freaking out.

“But when did you go swimming?” Jehan demands, clearly rhetorically. “Not yesterday, for sure, and today you’ve only just got up.”

Grantaire lets him go on with his speech, pursing his lips and waiting it out.

“So it must have been late last night, perhaps around midnight,” Jehan says, a grin starting to work its way onto his face. “And you know who the only other person who smelt like chlorine when they woke up is?”

“I’m getting the feeling that you’re going to tell me,” Grantaire sighs.

“Enjolras,” Jehan says, anyway, sounding victorious. “That leaves me with no possible other explanation than that you went on a midnight swim with _Enjolras_.”

Grantaire watches him with a raised eyebrow.

Jehan leans in and hisses, “I know your secret, Gran _taire_.”

Grantaire claps him on the shoulder. “Well done, Sherlock Holmes. Fantastic work.”

“You don’t seem at all phased,” Jehan whines, looking a little disappointed.

Grantaire simply shrugs. “Everyone and their mothers knows about my crush.”

Jehan pulls a sympathetic face. “That is true.”

Rubbing at his eyes, Grantaire wants this conversation to be over. “Just- Don’t tell people, yeah? I’m still not quite sure what happened.”

The common room is totally empty, except for them, and Jehan wraps his arms around Grantaire tightly.

Later that day when he sees Enjolras at lunch, they don’t exchange any words, but the smile Enjolras gives him from down the other end of the table is enough to tell Grantaire that something has changed between the two of them.

He can’t be sure what it is exactly, nor what it will lead to, but something is different. He thinks that’s a good thing.

After Grantaire has finished doing his daily French practicing with Courfeyrac in the afternoon, Combeferre challenges Grantaire to a game of cheat; it turns out that Combeferre has a good poker face that none but Enjolras can read. It also turns out that Enjolras has a very bad poker face when it comes to card games, so Grantaire makes all of his decisions based off Enjolras’ reactions to Combeferre. That works well until Combeferre sends Enjolras away.

Grantaire can’t help but laugh at Enjolras’ offended expression as he walks away, and Combeferre grins at him, continuing the game.

Combeferre wins, after Enjolras has gone, and Grantaire didn’t expect anything else.

It’s not till dinner that Enjolras starts sneezing and sniffing, and the entire group groan at the realisation that Enjolras has caught a cold. Grantaire doesn’t understand their apprehension at this.

Not until the next day when he wanders into the living room at approximately half eleven.

Enjolras is sprawled across one of the sofas, sniffing every three seconds and looking downright miserable.

“You seem pretty ill,” Grantaire says, frowning down at the sulking boy on the sofa.

“I’m not ill,” Enjolras says forcefully, despite the fact that he clearly is. Then he says, “I’m _dying_.”

Grantaire stifles a laugh at his pitiful expression, and then again when Enjolras tries to push back his hair from his face, only to have it fall back to where it was. Glancing round the room, he finds Floréal still standing at his side and she has exactly what is needed.

“Hey, Flor, can I borrow a bobble?” Grantaire asks, gesturing at her wrist.

She frowns at him. “What is a bobble?”

He reaches over and gently pulls one off her wrist. Holding it up for her to see he repeats the word. She gapes at him, before bursting into giggles. “A bobble?”

He laughs too, smiling at her adorable reaction to such a commonplace word.

He turns back to Enjolras and uses the bobble to tie his hair back from his face. “Better?” he asks, quietly, while in the background Floréal repeats the word ‘bobble’ over and over again.

“Better,” Enjolras confirms with a disgruntled expression.

Grantaire sits down next to him on the sofa and delicately rubs his leg. Enjolras bats his hand away with an irritated look.

“I don’t need you to baby me, Grantaire,” Enjolras spits at him, pulling up the hood on his jumper and rolling over so that Grantaire can’t see his face, like a Goddamn child.

“I was trying to help you,” Grantaire informs him before standing up and stalking away thinking bitterly that he shouldn’t have bothered at all. Floréal follows him silently, though Grantaire suspects that if they were both fluent in either language, she’d be talking away.

They make it all the way to the music room before she speaks up. “He’s ill.”

“[That is not my problem.]”

“[I know,]” she replies as he throws himself down in the piano stool. “He did not mean to get angry.”

He glares down at the piano keys, debating whether to even try to get some work done. Eventually he spins round to face Floréal. “I just don’t understand him. One moment he’s being really nice to me and the next he acts like he hates being around me, and I don’t get it.”

She frowns at him.

“[Too fast?]” he asks and she nods. Grantaire sighs and stares down at his hands. “[I don’t understand him.]”

She gives him a kiss on the top of his head and a smile. “Talk with him,” she instructs him. Then she leaves and Grantaire turns back to the piano. He plays around with some chords for a little while, desperately trying to concentrate on his music assignment but eventually he curses under his breath and stomps back to the common room.

He marches straight through it, ignoring everyone else, and most of all Enjolras when he calls after him, and heads straight for his room. Pulling a blanket from the bed he goes back to the common room and straight across to Enjolras. He throws it over him and says, “I don’t give a fuck if you’re going to be immature about this. Keep yourself warm and take care of yourself, for God’s sake, Enjolras.”

Enjolras pulls the blanket around himself, staring at the ground. He mumbles, “I’m sorry,” and risks a glance up at him.

Grantaire stares back, trying to be unimpressed, but he just looks so adorable wrapped up in blankets and an oversized hoody that he just ends up fighting a smile. Rolling his eyes he sighs and says, “Just… Get better, okay?”

He’s starting to become distinctly aware that the rest of the room has gone deadly silent, and he bets that if he looked around, the others would all be staring at him. Quickly, he turns to Courfeyrac, who is in fact staring at him. “Hey, Courf, I don’t really get the verb thing that you tried to teach me yesterday, can we go over that again?”

“Could you ask that in French?” Courfeyrac asks.

“Not even slightly,” Grantaire responds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the slight wait. first i saw into the woods and had to au it so that's a thing that you can read if you want. then i got really super ill and wasn't writing at all. this chapter has been bashed out in a 42 hour time span; the next one will have more care put into it   
> thank you for reading :) i hope you've had a great week


	11. All The Things You Heard

He should have gotten an idea about how the phone conversation was going to go when it started with, “I’m a busy woman, Grantaire, but I just wanted to check that you weren’t screwing this opportunity up like all the others.”

Sometimes, Grantaire can be a little too optimistic for a general pessimist and he’d thought that perhaps this might not be so bad.

It’s the first time he’s head from either of his parents since he arrived at the school, almost five weeks ago, and he thought that perhaps his mother might have something nice to say. “Hi Mom,” he says in response to her opening statement. “How are you?”

“I’m wonderful,” she replies, ruining it by adding, “It’s so much easier to get work done without you around.”

He stares at the wall and makes various faces of disbelief. Pinching the bridge of his nose he says, “That’s nice, Mom.”

He’s standing in the hallway, just outside the common room, and considers bashing his head in against the wall when she then says, “So, how are you doing detention-wise? Any isolations? Are there any parents we need to pay off for discretion and silence?”

He takes a moment to collect himself before gritting out the words, “No, Mother.” He breathes in deeply. “I am doing just fine,” he tells her, and can’t resist adding, “I think that being away from you is doing me just as much good as it’s apparently doing you, since you couldn’t be bothered to call for five weeks.”

He waits for the shouting to begin, raising one eyebrow at the wall as he listens to her breathe. “Grantaire,” she starts, her voice filled with disapproval. “I will not take that sort of tone from you.”

She continues on in the same vein for a long time, and Grantaire leans up against the wall, half listening and half thinking about the music exam.

Musichetta came to him about hers the other day, telling him all about her punk/classical idea and they’d spent hours after school in the music room, trying to work out the best way to include both Green Day and Rachmaninoff (she’d said no to Chopin, as though the very idea offended her). Grantaire still has no idea what he’s going to do for his mashup, and the composition isn’t going much better either.

He comes back to the present as his mother says, “I just think that the French culture might be refreshing for you, away from people like that Claquesous and the likes.” Grantaire winces and bites his tongue as she continues, ending with, “I’ll call you at some point.”

He hangs up without a goodbye, knowing that it’ll be Christmas by the time he hears from her again.

They used to get on, when he was young, but as they grew she became more distant. Plenty of therapists have informed the family that Grantaire acted out as a way to get attention from his parents. Grantaire personally thinks that’s a load of bullshit, as he once told his mother.

From his point of view, Grantaire ‘acted out’ because it was fun and, largely, because Claquesous was with him.

There’s a reason he’s not been getting into trouble here, and it’s little to do with a desire for his parent’s affection.

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he heads back to the common room. Re-joining the Thursday night study-group, he settles down in-between Courfeyrac and Musichetta while they help with his modern history homework.

However much he’d mocked the study-group before, he actually quite likes it. It’s easier to be productive when the people around you are being. He can also tackle two things at once, working with Courfeyrac, because the boy is very good at slipping in French lessons to their discussions.

Looking around the room, he knows that this is what family should feel like. Comfort and support. It’s a little weird to apply the term ‘family’ to a mix and match group of teenagers, but the painting tacked to his wall says family, and he couldn’t agree more.

When they take a break, Joly asks him what his plans are for October half-term.

“I guess I’m just staying here,” he shrugs, not having any real desire to go back to America. “How soon is that, anyway?”

“About two weeks,” Joly replies, and Grantaire hums his acknowledgement.

“Yeah, I’m not going back to my parents, so I’ll just stay here.”

“You and your parents don’t get on?” Bossuet asks from where he stands beside Joly.

Grantaire laughs, humourlessly. “They sent me to a French school, what do you think?”

Enjolras, on the other side of the room, looks over to him, and Grantaire looks back with a smile. Something about that boy fills Grantaire with affection, even though he can really get his hackles up at times.

Joly pulls his attention back, saying, “Is that who you were talking to on the phone?” Grantaire glances at him. “When you left the room? You were answering a call. It was your parents, wasn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah,” Grantaire confirms, shrugging. “Just a check in to make sure I wasn’t fucking this up for them. Apparently life’s getting better for them now that I’m away,” he adds, snidely.

“Oh,” Joly says, quietly.

Grantaire looks at the boy, small and quaint, with every plan to become a doctor after he’s gone to university, and realises that he’s probably never had a problem with his parents in his life. “Yeah, there was also the insinuation that I’ve most likely hit someone by now, or at the very least threatened someone.”

Joly frowns, his forehead creasing. “Why would they think that?”

Grantaire pulls a rueful face. “Before I came here, I wasn’t exactly in with the right crowd.”

“Oh?” Joly enquires, sounding genuinely curious and concerned.

“My ex and his friends,” Grantaire explains. He then coughs slightly. “Look, I don’t really want to talk about it, if you don’t mind.”

Joly immediately looks apologetic. “Oh, God, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

Grantaire claps him on the shoulder and gives him a smile. “That’s alright. I know you didn’t mean any harm.”

He turns away from Joly then, and notices the way a few people around him – Éponine, Montparnasse, and Musichetta – all quickly avert their eyes. He sighs, internally, praying to God that none of them treat him differently, or try to bring it up. Until just then, the only one he’d told anything about Claquesous was Enjolras, and he’s still the only one to know his name here, and he’d like to keep it that way, so that it’s not a source of gossip.

Once more, he catches Enjolras’ eye, but when it looks like Enjolras is going to move in his direction he quickly grabs the nearest person – who happens to be a very surprised Feuilly – and says, “How do you say ‘fuck off’ in French?” for lack of anything else to strike up a conversation about.

Feuilly laughs loudly, and exclaims, “Has no one taught you French expletives yet? Courfeyrac! I’m ashamed of you!” Then Feuilly turns to him. “And I’m ashamed of _you_ for not asking sooner!”

“Oh, _right_ ,” Grantaire laughs, “I’m sorry for focussing on verbs and prepositions and fucking conditional tenses and shit.”

Feuilly gives him a bright grin as he gathers a bunch of people, saying loudly, “We’re teaching Grantaire how to swear.”

Éponine and Cosette cheer the loudest.

Bossuet throws an arm around Grantaire as he and Feuilly pull him down onto a sofa. Grantaire notices Enjolras on the other side of the room, engrossed in a conversation with Combeferre. “What do you already know?” Bossuet asks.

Grantaire shrugs. “Merde?” he offers.

Joly giggles and Musichetta outright laughs at him. “Yeah,” she says, “we can come up with better than that.”

Cosette, sitting at Grantaire’s feet, kneels up and rests her arms on his legs, grinning as she asks, “Okay, what’s your favourite English swear?”

He shrugs again. “Fuck, I guess.”

Her dainty face lights up. “Alright, try saying putain.” When he does, she says, “That essentially means whore, but it’s basically used like fuck.” He laughs.

“You can also say enculer for the same effect,” Joly adds. Grantaire nods sagely and takes his advice to heed.

Time passes with everyone trying to come up with increasingly ridiculous swearwords, and eventually Grantaire is no longer being taught, he’s just listening as Bahorel and Feuilly argue over which out of two is more powerful.

Grantaire’s honestly not all that bothered about not being able to swear in French, but it is very amusing to watch his friends argue about the best swear word (or phrase, in some cases).

By the time Enjolras speaks up, saying, “We’re supposed to be studying,” the memory of the phone call with his mother has almost faded out of his mind. Grantaire can’t even find it in him to be annoyed at Enjolras for ruining the fun. He can see Enjolras smiling too, so his reminder that they’re supposed to be working, and not yelling swear words in French, isn’t all that bad.

Settling back down on the ground between Courfeyrac and Musichetta again, he resigns himself to slowly working his way through the block of French. Musichetta or somebody would usually translate it for him, and then help him translate his answers into French afterwards, but Courfeyrac decided that it was a good exercise for at least once, and if everything went badly, he’d fix it.

Enjolras stays far on the other side of the room for the duration of the study group, and Grantaire knows this because he’s finding it difficult to stop himself from looking over every five seconds. Musichetta elbows him every time he does it, and Courfeyrac keeps giggling.

“[Fuck off],” Grantaire tells him, and Courfeyrac only laughs harder at that. Even Musichetta is having a hard time hiding her smile.

Clearly not wanting to talk too loudly, for fear of being overheard, she passes him a hastily scribbled note.

_what’s going on w you and e?_

Grantaire reads the note and rolls his eyes.

“Nothing,” he whispers back. The disbelieving look she gives him in return says it all, really. Sighing, he then adds, “I have no idea.”

Grabbing the paper and her pen, he begins to hastily write his response.

_I don’t know what’s going on bc he’s completely all over the place he’s nice one second and the next he doesn’t talk to me or snaps at me idek anymore chetta_

Both she and Courfeyrac read his reply intently, small frowns on their face. The three of them glance across at Enjolras at the same time, and Grantaire blushes furiously when they find Enjolras looking back at them. Enjolras goes red too, and ducks his head, whispering something to Combeferre.

Grantaire feels like he’s in grade school again.

Courfeyrac then grabs the pen off him and shifts the paper across to himself. When he passes it back, Musichetta and Grantaire lean in to read it.

_you should talk to him_

Grantaire gives him an incredulous look. “What good’s that going to do? He clearly doesn’t think of me as more than a vague friend.”

It’s Musichetta and Courfeyrac’s turn to look amazed at him then. Courfeyrac shakes his head in wonder, a disbelieving look on his face. “Incredible,” he whispers.

Grantaire shoots him a sharp look. “Nothing that he’s done-”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Musichetta warns him. “Let’s count the things: trying to ask you out, blushing and being awkward when you sat with him at lunch, looking like he wanted to kill someone when you and Floréal were cuddling, being surprised when it transpired that you and Floréal were not dating and then not stopping smiling for the entire day, need I continue?”

“Not to mention sneaking out in the middle of the night to go swimming with you,” Courfeyrac adds.

Musichetta chokes. “What the _fuck_? No one told me about _that_!”

Courfeyrac looks overly pleased with himself, while Grantaire glares daggers at him. “Moonlit swimming,” Courfeyrac tells her with a grin. “Enj told me.”

Someone nearby them coughs and they glance up to see Éponine and Cosette watching them with raised eyebrows. “If this is meant to be a private conversation,” Éponine begins, “you might want to have it elsewhere or keep your voices down. Enjolras has been listening for the entire conversation.”

Grantaire’s eyes dart across to the boy in question. Enjolras is sitting rather stiffly, and he’s clearly blushing, despite the fact that he’s not looking in their direction. “Fuck,” Grantaire curses. He coughs a little and gets to his feet. “I’ll finish this off later, I need to- uh, go do some composition for music class.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Musichetta asks. “I could help.”

Grantaire glances back towards Enjolras one more time before shaking his head at his friend. “No, that’s alright. I’ll see you for dinner.”

With that, he quickly leaves the room, determinedly not looking at Enjolras now.

It’s kind of ridiculous, he thinks as he walks down the corridor, how much his life now revolves around his stupid crush. All of his new friends seem to find it the most wonderful conversation topic, and he himself can never seem to stop thinking about it.

If only Enjolras weren’t so… _Enjolras_. Maybe everything would be okay, then. But no, he has to be this wonderful, passionate, kind, confusing, asshole. (Not to mention look something akin to a Greek God.)

Fairly certain that he’d never thought about Claquesous this much – however much ‘in love’ he’d thought that he was – Grantaire knows for a fact that he is, to use the scientific term, _fucked_.

Thinking about Claquesous still sends a mixture of emotions running down his spine, all the fun they’d had together tangled with all the ways Claquesous had fucked him over and messed him up. Leaving America had been good for him, even though he’d been shocked and more than a little upset when his parents had abruptly started packing his things and ordering him into the car to drive him to the airport. Claquesous is now miles away, with no chance of being able to get to Grantaire, and that’s good.

His thoughts of his ex carry him all the way to the music room, and when he flops down on the piano stool, all he wants is to go back to his bedroom and curl up – preferably with Joly and Bossuet.

Instead he aimlessly plays a few chords, not even really focussing on his exam piece. He’s got plenty of time – the exam and review isn’t until March, and it’s only October now.

Somehow, he manages to find a run of notes that sounds pretty good and he immediately grabs some paper to jot down the notes in letter form, not feeling in the mood to go hunting for some blank music sheets and to write in the actual notes.

He continues, mostly at random, playing whatever feels right and jotting down anything that sounds anywhere close to good. He realizes that his tune sounds somewhat melancholy fairly quickly, but he doesn’t care.

As he plays it from the beginning, going over what he’s come up with over the hour or hours – he doesn’t know which, time seems to lose all meaning whenever he’s making music – that he’s been sitting there for, the door creaks open. Assuming it’s Floréal, sent to check that he’s okay, he carries on until he reaches the end.

A voice behind him says, “That was beautiful.”

That’s not Floréal’s voice. Not at all. Grantaire breathes in deeply and tries to gather his courage before he turns to face Enjolras. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i'm very sorry for the wait you were all praising me for being consistent and then i go and do that  
> i've been very busy i had a german speaking exam and a lot of art prep to do for my exam in a couple of weeks and last night i was at an all time low / you me at six concert in manchester!   
> i'll do my best to make the next chapter come out quicker but i have a lot of homework to get done this half term so we'll see how it goes :)  
> hope you're all having the best of times and that you liked the chapter   
> thank you for reading! you're the best


	12. If Only We Could Talk

All the anger inside of him is released as he throws another hit at the punch bag. The way it swings away from him is infinitely satisfying and when it falls back towards him he uses all his force to send it back again.

_I’m sorry if I’ve done anything to hurt you._

He keeps moving. Sweat drips down his back, coating the back of his neck and his armpits are drenched. For all he knows, he could be alone in the gym. Hands bound to protect his knuckles, he throws another punch.  

_It wasn’t my intention to confuse you, or make you feel in any way thrown around._

The world outside of his head is silent. He doesn’t register the sounds of frustration he makes with each hit. All the tension within his body is welled up to make each punch effective.

_Your friendship means a lot to me._

His feet pound the floor hard as he steps into punch after punch, his only goal to lose himself in the rhythmic attack.

_Grantaire- I’m sorry._

Grantaire lets out a sound almost like a growl and he hits the punch bag with everything he’s got. This time when it swings back to him, he catches it, hands holding it still. Resting his forehead against the fabric he lets out a deep sigh.

_Enjolras, don’t worry about it. It’s just a crush. I can get over it._

He wanders away in search of a drink, stretching out his arms as he goes and he remembers the look on Enjolras’ face when he’d said that. He still doesn’t know what it means, and he’s thought about it almost constantly since then.

_I didn’t realise that the way I’ve been acting-_

Grantaire takes a large gulp of the cool water, letting the liquid sooth his parched throat. He sits down on the floor and carefully stretches out his legs, reaching to touch his toes and letting his back stretch.

_Could be misinterpreted as flirting? It’s nothing. Courf and Chetta letting their imaginations get away from them, clearly._

The gym isn’t empty, and Grantaire leans back against the wall to watch other people work out for a moment. He gets a few odd looks, but he doesn’t want to leave yet, so what else is he going to do? There are some younger students in there, and now that Grantaire isn’t monopolising the boxing area with his older student status, they flock to there, using the two punching bags and the sparing area for their own fun.

Idly, Grantaire considers getting up to correct their form or technique, but on the whole they seem to know what they’re doing. Besides, he’s rather tired.

In the end, he gets to his feet and heads for the showers.

Slipping into a cubicle, he quickly undresses and gets the shower running, stepping into the stream of water before it’s sufficiently warm.

His anger at Enjolras’ poor apology has faded now, into something that’s closer to disappointment than anything else. He’s not entirely sure what he’d expected when he’d turned to find Enjolras in the music room with him two days ago. Surely he hadn’t actually expected Enjolras to tell him that he liked him, or to confess to something like romantic intentions.

Even so, he’d felt crushed when Enjolras had given him a weak apology and over the course of yesterday and today, Grantaire had slowly worked his way into anger.

It’s gone now, leaving him drained.

As he stands there under the water, letting it run down his body and clean away the sweat and the grime of his workout, he hears the door to the shower room open. Two voices are talking as they wander in and Grantaire stiffens when he hears Courfeyrac mention his name.

“…can’t work out how he feels about Grantaire,” Courfeyrac is saying. Grantaire’s heart accelerates and he’s unsure as to whether he should alert them of his presence.

“That’s ridiculous,” Combeferre replies. “Just because he has zero practise at romantic feelings does not give him the excuse to mess Grantaire around.”

Courfeyrac sniggers. “Sorry, I thought we were talking about Enjolras’ crush on Grantaire; not yours.”

“I do not have a _crush_ on Grantaire,” Combeferre says, sounding completely calm and not at all offended by the suggestion.

“Well, if you do, you can talk to me,” Courfeyrac says, and Grantaire cringes at how serious he sounds. “Maybe moving on from Enj would be good for you.”

Grantaire buries his face in his hands and tries not to whine. It’s far too late to announce his presence now and he’s heard far too much. As he listens, there’s a short pause, before Combeferre says, with a sigh, “He’s nice is all. It’s not a crush. I don’t think.”

Grantaire’s eyes widen and panic courses through him. What the fuck. What the _fuck?_

“But what I feel for Enjolras, unrequited and ridiculous though it may be, is stronger than anything I could feel for anyone else at present.”

Grantaire’s heart hurts for Combeferre in that moment.

“I don’t think it’s ridiculous,” Grantaire hears Courfeyrac reply, and there’s the sound of cubicle doors opening, a few down to his left. Courfeyrac continues talking. “I don’t think it’s _good_ for you, and I think you should try with someone else at least, but I don’t think that your feelings are ridiculous.”

“Thanks, Courf,” Combeferre answers. “Still, I think someone needs to give Enj a talking to about Grantaire, because what he did was horrible. Just because he can’t understand his own feelings, or perhaps doesn’t want to, doesn’t mean that we should let him get away with tugging Grantaire around.”

Courfeyrac hums his agreement, and there’s the sound of water starting up in one or both of their showers. Grantaire shuts off his own water and steps out to get dried and dressed. He continues to listen, in far too deep to not hear more.

“Do you think it’s the whole ace thing that’s making him back off?” Courfeyrac asks Combeferre.

“What?” Combeferre asks, sounding confused. “Why would that-?”

“Because Grantaire’s clearly not a virgin by any standard, and, Hell, good for him if that’s what he wants, but Enjolras… doesn’t.”

Grantaire stands perfectly still as he listens. He’d gone a little red at Courfeyrac talking about his sex life, but mostly his mind was caught up on the fact that Enjolras is asexual. Well, damn. There go all of Grantaire’s fantasies.

“Enjolras is sure enough in himself that that wouldn’t stop him from dating someone… right? God, I don’t know. He never talks about that.” Combeferre sounds genuinely thoughtful about the idea.

This is the weirdest situation Grantaire has been in since arriving at this school – listening to the best friends of his crush discussing how to get his crush to ask him out when one of the best friends is practically in love with said crush – none of it makes sense.

Grantaire starts pulling on his clean clothes haphazardly. He shouldn’t be listening to this. He’s still so mad at Enjolras for trying to ‘let him down gently’. He’s mad at Enjolras for being sweet, and he’s mad at Enjolras for making him like him. Mostly, he’s mad at Enjolras for making him think that he had a shot.

Now, however, a plethora of emotions are running through Grantaire like a sugar rush gone bad. His whole body is trembling, rather pathetically, and he hastily leaves the room to the sound of Courfeyrac saying, “Maybe we should talk to Enj about it. This is getting us nowhere.”

Grantaire sprints down the corridor, clutching his dirty gym clothes and his now slightly-wet towel.

He has to keep telling himself that Enjolras doesn’t like him, or else hope will start to rise in him once more. Keeping up his pace, he races down the corridors, not really paying attention to the other students milling about.

Sprinting through the entrance hall and out onto the front steps his stops suddenly as an irrational, giddy laugh bubbles up and out of him, lightheaded and a little oxygen high. He drops his clothes on the top step and sinks down onto the cold stone.

Short a time as he’s known the place, he really has come to love this school. It’s incredibly beautiful and, obviously, so very French. It’s nothing like anything he’s known from America and he’s certain he could fall in love with France as a country. Already he longs to explore, to see Paris and the Louvre, to walk along the Seine, to visit the south of France with its beautiful coastline, to head north and see castles on hills and mismatched towns with their disorderly houses in rows.

If it weren’t for what a mess he’s become through meeting Enjolras, he’d never want to leave. Unfortunately, the crush on Enjolras span out of control, leaving him feeling dizzy and a wreck as he thinks back to Enjolras standing in the music room, quiet seriousness written across his face.

_I never wanted to make you feel uncomfortable_.

It was one of the worst conversations of his life – actually, no, that’s not at all true, but it was bad.

_God, no, I’m not_ uncomfortable. _I just-_ I _should be apologising. Not you._

The weather seems to be doing its best to average about 50 degrees in the late October, and Grantaire shivers slightly, sitting on the steps. Everything is so tangled in his mind – thoughts of a person from his past and a person in his present, thoughts filled with ‘what if’s, thoughts about being able to hold Enjolras, if that’s something Enjolras is comfortable with, and thoughts about everything that Courfeyrac and Combeferre said.

_Well, even so, I’m sorry._

He keeps thinking about what Courfeyrac and Combeferre said about Enjolras being asexual. He doesn’t mind that Enjolras is ace, not really. Sure, he’s a little disappointed that he and Enjolras would never have sex, but honestly, he was resigning himself to that anyway, what with Enjolras essentially telling him that he wasn’t interested.

_Maybe you should… back off, for a bit?_

Still, he’d like to touch Enjolras, and hold him tightly, and press linger kisses down his chest – but if Enjolras doesn’t want that then why continue the thoughts of it? Instead, his mind turns to Enjolras’ smile, and imagining twisting their fingers together, maybe even gentle kisses at most. It would be enough. It would be everything.

_Oh. Oh, okay. R, I’m- I’m sorry. If that’s what you want._

Grantaire watches as a bird floats on the breeze, some kind of hawk or other bird of prey, he thinks, knowing that either Jehan or Combeferre would be able to tell him were they here.

He knows it’s a cliché teenage thought and still he wonders what it’d be like to be able to just fly away from his problems, though he supposes, in large, that’s what he did. Sure, he was sent, but he did fly away from most of his problems. He just happened to pick up a few more when he got here.

_It is._

When Grantaire gets back to the common room, it’s getting close to dinner time, and the first thing he hears when he opens the door is the sound of Enjolras’ laughter. The beautiful sound breaks off as soon as Grantaire walks in, and a twinge of guilt and regret flares through him. Because of who he is as a person, his eyes immediately jump to Enjolras.

Enjolras looks away almost as fast as they make eye contact. Grantaire grits his teeth and pretends it doesn’t bother him. Almost the entire room is looking at either him or Enjolras, and he’s very aware of that fact as he crosses the room, heading for the safety of his bedroom.

His hands grip his gym clothes and towel tighter than is probably necessary, but he needs it to ground himself.

He hasn’t said a single word to Enjolras in two days. Enjolras had tried to talk to him yesterday, but hadn’t made it past Grantaire’s name before Grantaire was brushing past him and out into the corridor. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t miss talking to Enjolras. It’s the second time since they’ve known each other that they purposefully haven’t spoken, though this time the roles are reversed and it’s Grantaire that’s avoiding Enjolras.

He can’t bear the thought that every time Enjolras sees him he _knows_. It’s ridiculous, being this pathetic about the guy you like knowing, but he can’t help it.

Making it to his room, he throws his stuff onto his chair and flops onto his mattress. He could go back to the common room, where he has friends, but Enjolras is in there and experience of the last few days has taught him that being in a closed environment with him is not going to end well. When he tried to sit with everyone yesterday, conversation got awkward very fast, with neither Enjolras nor Grantaire talking and sending each other not-so-subtle glances every five seconds.

Eventually Montparnasse had snapped, “Are you two going to fucking talk to each other, or what?” At which point Enjolras had stalked from the room without a single word.

Grantaire will never admit aloud that he misses Enjolras.

(He does though.)

_I guess I’ll see you around, then._

They’re not dating. Never have been. Most likely never will.

_Yeah, that’s probably not avoidable_.

Grantaire knows this. He knows that Enjolras isn’t interested.

_Grantaire- I- I really am sorry._

So why does this feel so much like a break-up?

_Me too_.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it makes no sense to have courf and ferre talking in english but hey that’s how things have got to be sometimes   
> Sometimes I wanna punch my own characters? I would quite like to punch enjolras rn as much as I love him  
> I know where I’m taking this though and I hope you’ll bear with their bad communication skills and awkwardly dancing around each other in pathetic attempts at flirting and explaining and general not knowing what the fuck they’re doing :D


	13. All I Really Want To Do

Every time they meet in doorways, they never talk. One of them will step out the way – usually Grantaire – keeping their eyes cast downwards.

When one of them is in the common room, the other will never stick around for long.

Grantaire will disappear to the music or art room for hours on end.

Enjolras will stay in his room doing homework for entire evenings.

Regularly one of their friends will approach Grantaire and try to convince him to go and talk to Enjolras. He doesn’t know for sure, but he assumes they do the same to Enjolras, and even though Grantaire never makes a move to start a conversation, it still stings that Enjolras hasn’t tried either.

When everyone starts to pack for their half term holidays, Grantaire panics a little at how few are staying here.

He’s staying, obviously, due to a lack of effort to fly all the way back to America to see two people who will no doubt ignore him for the entire week. Cosette’s staying, because her father is the headmaster. Éponine’s staying, because apparently her parents aren’t much better than Grantaire’s. Feuilly’s staying, because as it turns out, he doesn’t have parents. (Grantaire knows he’s a little selfish for catching himself almost thinking that Feuilly’s lucky.)

And, of course, Enjolras is staying, because he’s the headmaster’s stepson.

Grantaire never did ask what the deal with Enjolras’ real parents were, because since Combeferre prompted him to, they’ve only spoken a few times – back when things were good, and then for the ‘break-up’.

It’s a bit hectic in the boys’ wing. Since everyone’s only going home for a week, Grantaire can’t understand why they need to pack so much of their stuff, but people are bustling from room to room, returning things that aren’t theirs, asking about people’s holidays, and so on.

Currently, Grantaire’s sitting on Joly’s bedroom floor, watching him pack.

“My offer still stands,” Joly says.

Grantaire gives a grunt in response. They don’t need to have this conversation again, surely.

“Don’t want you to be on your own here,” Joly says.

He won’t be alone. Éponine will be here.

“I mean, obviously, if you’d just make up with Enjolras, things wouldn’t be so bad.”

God, does Joly ever stop talking? Grantaire gets to his feet, sighing. “I’m good, thanks. You enjoy your holidays. I’ll just get some work done.”

At that moment, Jehan sticks his head around the corner. “Grantaire, can you lend me a hand?”

Grantaire hastily goes with him, anything to be away from Joly pestering him about Enjolras. Unfortunately, to get to the girl’s wing, where Jehan needs his help, he does have to walk past Combeferre’s room – within which he can hear Enjolras. Enjolras is speaking French, and Grantaire tries to ignore the effect that still has on him; it’s absurd.

Jehan has two rooms – one in the boy’s wing, and one in the girl’s wing. Grantaire’s never questioned this; it seems he’s had it this way since the beginning. Feuilly doesn’t have two rooms, so Grantaire assumes that it’s all about preference. Grantaire’s a little unsure as to how this has been allowed, but then, Valjean did let a non-French speaking student in, so he clearly doesn’t run things the way Grantaire’s used to.

The girls’ wing is so much calmer than the boys’ and Grantaire smiles at Floréal and Cosette who are lazing on a sofa in their common room as he enters.

He can hear Éponine screeching, “[WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY HAIRSTRAIGHTENERS?]” and while he’s not sure what she’s saying, Musichetta’s response sounds calm enough that it’s not worth offering assistance.

Grantaire follows Jehan down the corridor, only half listening to the boy’s happy chattering – something about getting to see his papi.

“Right,” Jehan says, with an air of business around him, “I want you to carry _these things_ back to the boys’ wing where my suitcase is.”

Grantaire takes the pile of things, frowning. “Why didn’t you just bring the suitcase across with you?” he asks, confused.

Jehan genuinely looks amazed by that idea. “I’m so- Jesus Christ, you smart person, you.”

Grantaire barks a laugh. “How long have you been packing like this?”

“For five fucking years!” Jehan exclaims.

Grantaire continues to laugh as he exits the room, leaving Jehan standing there, dumb-founded.

Grantaire goes down with Joly and Bossuet when it’s pick-up time, and despite the fact that he’s only known them for a few weeks, he finds himself getting introduced to their parents. Joly’s mom, a kindly looking woman who Grantaire could picture pottering around a garden, babbling about her petunias, even jokes, “So, is this one going to be added to your boyfriend-girlfriend collection?”

Grantaire flushes red at that, and Bossuet shifts awkwardly, but Joly just laughs loudly. “Nah,” he says, cheerfully. “This one’s got a thing for blonds.” Grantaire goes even redder then.

Speaking of, he can see Enjolras on the other side of the entrance hall, chattering away to Combeferre and what looks like Combeferre’s parents. As they talk, Courfeyrac goes bounding up to them, with a girl who can’t be more than seven on his back.

When Joly’s parents are ready to leave, his mom carrying half of Joly’s things, and his dad carrying most of Bossuet’s, the two boys give Grantaire a big hug. “Don’t mope around the art room all half term. Try and have a little fun,” Joly instructs him.

“And talk to Enjolras!” Bossuet adds, far too loudly for Grantaire’s liking – considering the way both Musichetta and Cosette look their way with a snort and clear amusement.

Upon realising that Joly and Bossuet are leaving, Musichetta goes to give them a quick kiss each, leaving Cosette free to sidle up to Grantaire, a wicked smile upon her pretty face.

“So,” she says, which sounds quite daunting, and Grantaire prepares for the worst, “a whole week ahead, barely anybody around…”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow at her. “Cosette, I’m flattered, but you have a boyfriend,” he teases.

She rolls her eyes. “Please, I know that I’m not the blond that you’re after. Which brings me to my point: are you going to talk to Enjolras this week?” She doesn’t give him chance to say no. “Because, well, I figured that since no one’s around, you two could talk with no pressure on you, and if it ends in a screaming match then at least no one’s going to gossip about it.”

“Your words fill me with confidence,” Grantaire deadpans.

“He’s… what’s the word? Misérable. Oh, right, _miserable_. Pronunciation, tssk.”

Grantaire scoffs. “He’s not miserable.”

“Oh, but he is, Grantaire, he’s been _sulking_ ,” she tells him.

“Don’t you have friends to be saying goodbye to? Or someone else to be bothering?”

She looks a little hurt for a moment, but then waves him off. “Please, they’re going for a week I’ll text them if I feel like it. You’re my issue right now. More specifically, what you’ve done to my baby brother.”

“I meant to say something about that,” Grantaire says, off track. “Don’t you find it weird that your dad made his kids head boy and head girl?”

She actually laughs then. “Ah, we’re great, why wouldn’t he make us the head kids?”

Grantaire shakes his head in disbelief. “And so modest too.”

She shrugs. “Talk to Enjolras. If not today, then at some point this week, please.” With that said, she skips off to give Floréal a hug before she goes.

Grantaire stares after the whirlwind-esque yet petit girl in wonder. What a girl. No wonder Marius fell for her so hard.

Floréal’s the next to approach him about Enjolras, and while she doesn’t say much, mostly because she probably doesn’t know the words to call Grantaire a complete buffoon in English, she does give him a very pointed look and an obvious gesture towards the blond. She still gives him a hug, saying, “Au revoir,” cheerfully when she goes.

It’s going to be weird, Grantaire thinks, spending the next seven or so days without Floréal around, or Joly and Bossuet. It’s not like he’ll be lonely. He likes Éponine, after all, and Feuilly is nice. Cosette’s great too, but Grantaire knows that she’ll spend most of the week pestering him about Enjolras.

And then there’s Apollo himself.

That’s going to be interesting with less of a buffer between the two of them. Grantaire wonders if it would be completely ridiculous to avoid Enjolras all week. Probably, is the honest answer. Besides, he supposes that the others won’t let that happen anyway.

Various people from various years bustle around him, hugging parents, friends, others. Grantaire stands amidst it all and just wishes they’d go away. Or stay. As long as all the clamour stops, he doesn’t mind which.

He goes back up to the common room; Musichetta sees him go and gives him a wave. He waves back but carries on his path. It’s only a week away from them all – there’s no need to feel so disheartened at the thought; after all, when this school year is over there’s no guarantee he’ll see any of them again, anyway.

That thought sobers him entirely, and he sullenly flops onto the common room sofa to stare blankly at the wall for a while. He gets the feeling his few friends that are left will be up here soon enough, and that probably includes Enjolras, meaning he’ll have to leave.

 Éponine’s the first back, waltzing into the boy’s common room, not looking at all put out by her boyfriend’s departure, and sprawling across the sofa that Grantaire’s sitting on, her legs weighing down on him heavily.

She closes her eyes, throwing an arm over them, so she misses the look Grantaire sends her. He quickly turns to massaging her ankles gently, however, so he’s not that irritated.

At least, he’s not irritated until he realises her intentions.

Enjolras comes strolling into the common room, Feuilly by his side, and their eyes meet immediately. Enjolras freezes. Grantaire’s hands still. Éponine digs her heels into Grantaire’s thigh, forcing him to stay sat down and her eyes are fixed on him when he glances at her.

Feuilly lets out an exasperated sound and grabs Enjolras, making him sit down on the other sofa, continuing their conversation.

Grantaire stays frozen for a moment, and Enjolras keeps glancing his way, but eventually he settles, hands hesitantly going back to gently rubbing Éponine’s ankles. She gives him an approving smile before her eyes slide shut again.

Grantaire does his best not to watch Enjolras, he really does, but it’s quite difficult really. Feuilly keeps making him laugh, and that’s one hell of a distraction for Grantaire.

Sometimes Grantaire wishes Enjolras was more of an asshole. Unfortunately the world doesn’t work that way and Enjolras is actually a pretty great person who quite clearly loves all of his friends dearly. It’s exhausting.

Éponine kicks him gently when he’s been staring too long, and Grantaire looks down at his hands guiltily. She lifts her legs off him, allowing him to get up, and he does so, hurrying for the door. Enjolras – that bastard – smiles at him as he goes, and Grantaire’s not sure how successful he was at returning the glorious look he received.

This week is not going to be easy.

-

“Up!” a sharp voice orders, ripping his curtains open. “Up, up, up! Joly, Bossuet, Floréal, and Jehan aren’t around to keep you going, so I’m taking over!”

Grantaire peeks between his eyelashes, a little concerned he might go blind from the sudden influx of light. He can just about make out Cosette and Grantaire rubs his face.

“What are you doing in my room, Sette?” he mumbles.

“Making sure you don’t waste your holiday,” she informs him, cheerily.

“Sleep is not a waste of time,” he replies, though really, he knows it’s getting a bit much.

It’s Tuesday now, and the only times he’s left his room are for meals and solitary excursions to the art or music rooms. Oh, and that time he played a game of bullshit with Feuilly for an hour or so, (while Enjolras was with Valjean and Cosette).

She doesn’t dignify his excuse with a response, instead turning to dig around inside his wardrobe, throwing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt at him, along with a pair of boxers and socks. “Get dressed, we’re going into town.”

“We?” he asks, sitting up to yank the shirt on over his head, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Yes, we,” she says, blatantly avoiding his question, and then she promptly marches out of the room, her blonde hair swishing, to let him get changed.

He pulls on the clothes and gives himself a once-over in the mirror before adding his favoured beanie and an old but warm and comfortable sweater.

When he gets to the common room, he gets his answer to what Cosette meant by ‘we’.

The four remaining students in their group are waiting for him. Cosette beams at him when he arrives. Éponine looks a little tired but happy overall, dressed in scruffy dungarees. Feuilly’s ginger hair is sticking out here, there, and everywhere. Even Enjolras isn’t looking on top form. Grantaire’s glad to know that he’s not the only one who’s exhausted.

Cosette’s the only one with seemingly endless energy. She merrily leads the lot of them down and out of their school, heading for the bus stop, not stopping chattering to Éponine the entire way. This leaves Grantaire to walk in silence, with only Enjolras or Feuilly to talk to. Neither of them seem to be in a talkative mood either, especially not Enjolras.

It starts to get a little awkward during the bus journey to the town, so Grantaire pulls out his phone and earphones, jamming them into his ear and turning up the volume. Cosette gives him a pointed look which he readily ignores. She tugs the earbuds out of his ears when they arrive in town, grabbing his hand and enthusiastically towing him off the bus.

A small smile flits across his face.

Cosette keeps them all going for the duration of the outing. Feuilly and Enjolras talk to each other more than anyone, but occasionally Grantaire catches Enjolras looking at him: across the table in the _Musain_ ; along the shelves in a quaint bookstore; in the mirror in a clothes shop that Éponine dragged them into.

Enjolras really seems to enjoy clothes shopping, oddly, and Grantaire finds it distinctly adorable the way he and Cosette work together to root out the best bargains on skirts, scarfs, jumpers, anything.

Grantaire goes a little red and has to look somewhere else when Cosette and Éponine insist that Enjolras try on a stunning red dress, spinning round and blatantly flaunting himself. Enjolras doesn’t buy the dress, saying that it’s far too ostentatious, but God, he looks good.

Enjolras does, however, buy a new pair of skinny jeans that perfectly accentuate (some of)  his best features, and a cute little skirt that he claims is a waste of money with winter coming up, but Cosette hushes him and says that he’ll still fit it when summer comes around, and if he doesn’t want it then, she’ll certainly have it.

Grantaire doesn’t buy anything, instead choosing to spend his money on cake and coffee and his time on watching his friends have fun.

As the day progresses they all relax and things are considerably less awkward than when they all set out. Enjolras even smiles directly at Grantaire at one point.

On the bus on the way home, Grantaire puts his earphones back in and goes back to staring out the window. This time, however, it’s because he feels at ease, and he relaxes into the chair instead of sitting stiffly and ignoring the others.

When they get back to the school, they head up to the common room, to put their new things away before dinner.

During dinner, Grantaire and Enjolras sit at opposite ends of the table, but with so few of them there, there really isn’t that much distance between them. Neither of them talk all that much, letting the other three carry the conversation, but an impasse of sorts seems to have been reached at some point throughout the day.

Still, Grantaire doesn’t want to ruin this so as soon as they leave the table he tries to escape to his room, but Enjolras catches his wrist in his hand. “Meet me on the roof?” he asks, quietly, hesitantly.

Grantaire searches Enjolras eyes for some tell-tale sign as to what’s happening, but, finding nothing, he nods, carefully. “Okay.”

Enjolras lets go of his wrist then and walks away quickly, leaving Grantaire standing there, staring after him in shock.

Before going to the roof, Grantaire all but runs back to the common room, where he finds the other three lounging around on the sofas.

“You okay?” Feuilly asks when Grantaire bursts in.

Grantaire shakes his head. “If Enjolras wanted to talk to me, do you think it’s a good or a bad idea for me to go?”

The three look at him for a long moment, in which Grantaire’s nerves get increasingly shakier.

“I’d say go,” Éponine says, at last, “but if he says anything dickish walk away immediately.”

The other two hum their agreement, and Cosette thoughtfully says, “I don’t think he’d hurt you intentionally. Go hear him out.”

So Grantaire does. His hands shake a little on the walk up to the roof, but he tries to convince himself that this won’t be bad. After all, today was good, and things seem to be okay.

Taking a deep breath, he opens the door to the roof and steps out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading - next chapter will have ....*drum roll*.... their conversation on the roof  
> i hope your week has been great so far and that your weekend is awesome  
> if you wanna come and talk i'm at nerds-are-cool on tumblr (i still don't know how to put links in these things) so yea feel free to follow or chat or w/e u can just lurk if you want aha :)  
> i just want to say thank you for all your comments - you guys are amazing  
> also i cant believe we’re on chapter 13 and it’s only just october half term jfc   
> also i kinda want R to sing hot n cold by katy perry to enj (he's a music student it wouldn't be ridiculous for me to put that in... right?)


	14. You Are My Friend

The sun has already started to set when Grantaire steps out onto the school rooftop, and he wishes he’d worn something a little warmer.

Enjolras is leaning up against a wall, looking down over the edge. He’s almost silhouetted against the sky and Grantaire takes a moment to stare. Then Enjolras looks up.

And he smiles.

Hesitantly, and after a moment’s pause, Grantaire smiles back.

“Hello Grantaire,” Enjolras says, turning properly to face him.

Grantaire closes the door behind him. “Hello Enjolras.” He waits for a moment, giving Enjolras the chance to speak, and when he doesn’t, Grantaire sighs. “What’s going on, Enjolras?”

Enjolras pats the wall, gesturing Grantaire to come over to him. Grantaire does, moving to stand next to him. They lean against the wall, side by side, and Grantaire turns his head to look at Enjolras. It’s odd, being so close after days of avoiding each other, but Grantaire isn’t going to let that make this any more difficult than it has to be.

“So?” Grantaire prompts, ready to get this show on the road, wanting to know if he’s going to get yelled at or not.

“Can you stop being so on edge?” Enjolras asks, suddenly. “I haven’t lured you up here to murder you.”

That makes Grantaire laugh unexpectedly. “No, I know. You’re smarter than that. Our friends know that you and I are up here, if I was suddenly dead, you would be the prime suspect.”

Enjolras smiles. “You know what, Grantaire?” Enjolras asks, something of a laugh in his voice. “My friends are the best thing about me. I’d be next to nothing without my friends.” He looks at Grantaire seriously. “I consider you my friend.”

Grantaire swallows. “So- So, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I miss you,” Enjolras says, his shoulders lifting in a half-shrug. “I hate the way we’ve been avoiding each other. I hate the way we keep fighting. I hate how awkward we’ve become.”

Grantaire considers him, tilting his head on its side as he looks at the blond boy beside him. “Me too,” he admits.

“Can we be friends again?” Enjolras asks.

The question’s so innocent that Grantaire cracks a smile. He huffs a short laugh. Enjolras looks at him, hope in his eyes.

Enjolras says, “I think we can manage it.”

Grantaire looks down at his hands. “You think so? Because so far we’ve not really been good at being ‘friends’.”

“We haven’t?” Enjolras asks, a small frown appearing on his face.

“No!” Grantaire laughs. “No, we’ve been awful at it.”

“Oh,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire hastily backtracks, hearing the disappointment in Enjolras’ voice. “I mean, we’ve had some nice moments, sure, but they’ve all been a little overshadowed by- well, by me thinking you were flirting, and then the fights.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says with a sigh, sounding resigned.

“It’s not your fault, obviously, it’s just that we’re kind of all over the place, really. Like, one moment we get along really well and the next you snap at me over nothing, or I yell at you, or- or-” Grantaire breaks off and shrugs. Enjolras looks at him earnestly.

“So, we start again,” Enjolras says. He holds out a hand towards Grantaire. Grantaire laughs softly and takes it, shaking his hand firmly. “Hi,” Enjolras says. “I’m Enjolras. I’m head boy here at this school. I have a tendency to be overprotective of my friends, I’ve never been anywhere outside of France, and I think my hair is utterly ridiculous, despite everyone else seeming to think that it’s wonderful.”

Grantaire laughs again, still holding Enjolras’ hand between them. “I’m Grantaire,” he replies. “I recently moved here from America at my parents’ request. Like most white Americans, I only speak English because we’re all self-centred twats. I’ve never had friends like the ones I have now and I think they’re all wonderful. I spend way too much time drawing and one day I’d love to become a musician.” He looks up at Enjolras smiling, and then he adds, “And I think your hair is wonderful.”

It’s dark up on the roof now, only the light above the door and the moon giving them anything to see by. Enjolras grins at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Grantaire.”

“You too,” Grantaire responds.

They stare at each other in the semi-darkness for a moment, before Grantaire starts to laugh. It feels so ridiculous, standing up here on the roof, shaking hands with the guy that he’s falling fast for, reintroducing himself after weeks of knowing him.

Enjolras joins in after a moment, and they let go of each other’s hands, leaning up against the wall as they struggle to fight the giggles.

When Grantaire manages to stop laughing, he smiles up at Enjolras, and says, “Everyone’s been at me to apologise for days.”

“Me too,” Enjolras says. “Combeferre and Courfeyrac would literally not shut up about you.”

“Really? I had our entire group on me, pretty much. Cosette was very insistent.”

Enjolras looks a little guilty at that. “Sorry,” he says.

“What for?”

“I wasn’t really very nice to you. I mean, I was trying to be nice but it came across wrong, didn’t it?” Enjolras shrugs. “I’m sorry. For the mixed messages, and all the complications, and everything. I’m sorry.”

“Good,” Grantaire says in response.

Enjolras looks at him, seeming confused. “Good?”

“Yeah. You’re an ass. It’s good that you’re admitting to it.”

Enjolras bursts into laughter again and lightly shoves Grantaire. Grantaire smiles at him, feeling warm-hearted.

“I accept your apology,” Grantaire says. “I’m sorry too, for pushing you away.”

“That’s alright,” Enjolras says. Hesitantly, he lifts his arms. “This feels like a hug moment?”

Grantaire chuckles and steps forwards to hug Enjolras, wrapping his arms around the taller boy’s shoulders, while Enjolras holds him around the waist. The hug doesn’t last long, but when they separate, they both feel relaxed and comfortable.

“The others are probably waiting anxiously, we should-” Grantaire gestures vaguely at the door.

“Oh, right, yeah.” Enjolras pulls a face.

Grantaire starts towards the door, leading the way, and Enjolras falls into step just a little behind him.

Grantaire wracks his brain for something to say as they walk to the common room, but there doesn’t really seem to be anything worth saying anymore.

When they push open the door to the common room and walk in, their friends freeze, looking up with worry written across their faces.

“You okay?” Éponine asks, slowly.

Grantaire glances at Enjolras, who’s already looking at him, and he smiles as he looks back at the others. “We’re okay.”

Cosette grins at them, and Feuilly and Éponine look relieved.

-

People start arriving over the next few days. Combeferre’s the first back on the Friday, a considerable amount following on the Saturday. Floréal’s the last back Sunday evening, and she comes sprinting into the common room and jumping straight into Grantaire’s arms with a squeal.

Grantaire laughs, dropping the books belonging to Jehan that he had been holding in surprise as he spins her round. “[Hey, Flor!]” he exclaims.

A few people laugh as he sets her down on the ground and she looks up at him, wobbling a little in her dizziness. She beams.

“Where are your bags?” he asks her, making her frown.

Then her face lights up. “With my parents,” she says, pointing back the way she came.

Grantaire rolls his eyes. “J, can I go help Floréal?” he calls over to Jehan.

He waves a hand dismissively, in the middle of a conversation with Bahorel.

Arriving in the entrance hall, Floréal tugs him over to where here parents are standing, staring around at the room. The conversation is short-lived, but they do speak English, so that’s a relief.

By the end of it, he’s been invited to their place for a holiday, and he _thinks_ that they think he’s dating Floréal.

He helps Floréal carry her bags up to the girls’ wing, where he finds the girls in varying states of undress. They don’t seem embarrassed in the slightest as they wander between each other’s rooms in their underwear, holding up different outfits against themselves and each other.

Grantaire averts his eyes, staring down at the ground and _not_ at Musichetta in her absurdly revealing bra.

“Can you guys put some clothes on?” Grantaire asks, loudly.

They look at him as if they hadn’t even noticed him. At that moment, Jehan comes out of his room with no shirt on, and a very tight pair of jeans on and says, “I got these for five euros,” with a big smile, twirling round for the girls to see.

They all make similar noises of approval.

“I can beat that,” Musichetta declares, disappearing into her room and coming back out with a green dress. “Two euros in a charity shop,” she tells them all, proudly, holding it up against herself. “I mean, _sure_ I had to fix it up a little, but my point still stands.”

Jehan actually applauds her.

“What’s going on?” Grantaire asks, confused.

Éponine laughs from where she’s leaning up against the wall, mostly fully clothed. “They do this every time. Fashion show. What they bought during the holidays.” She shrugs. “We try not to perpetuate stereotypes but we really fucking love shopping.”

Grantaire laughs and turns back to Floréal, holding up her bags in a silent question. She points at her door before skipping across to Musichetta, pulling her into a hug and then rapidly launching into French, running her hands over the dress, her tone complimentary.

Grantaire ends up leaving the girls and Jehan to it.

When he gets back to the boys’ wing, he must look a little shell-shocked, because Enjolras asks what’s wrong. Grantaire shakes his head slowly. “I was just in the girls’ wing,” he says, by way of explanation.

A few of the boys laugh loudly. “Let me guess,” Feuilly says with a grin, “semi-naked fashion show?”

Grantaire nods, weakly, making them laugh again. Even Enjolras looks pretty amused.

Looking across at Joly and Bossuet, Grantaire nods. “You two did very well,” he says. They grin in a way that shows they know exactly how lucky they are. Then he looks at Courfeyrac and Bahorel and says, “I did not expect Jehan to look that good without his shirt on, either.”

They laugh, grinning at him, and Bahorel says, “When I first met him, neither did I.”

-

With everyone back, and classes starting up again, things just fall back into place. Everything is easy, a nice routine.

He gets up, showers, sits in silence with his coffee through breakfast, struggles to concentrate in morning lessons, works hard in afternoon lessons, takes any frees he has with joy, spends the evening doing more work in art or music, learning French with Courfeyrac or whoever happens to be free, and takes part in movie nights, card games, and random conversations about Sylvia Plath, or the migration of starlings.

The only difference between now and before the half-term is that Enjolras is talking to him now. The head boy walks him to lunch after lessons that they share. He purposefully draws Grantaire into conversations. He even helps Grantaire with his translating on homework a few times.

With this, a couple of weeks breeze by without Grantaire even realising how fast the time’s flying by.

Grantaire overhears the girls giggling and talking quietly one morning, and he notices Cosette blushing quite horrible. Distantly, he thinks that it’s quite amusing that she’s not an attractive blusher, her entire face a blotchy red.

He approaches them. “What are you laughing about?”

“Whether Enjolras is going to ask you to the dance or not,” Éponine says without shame, and Cosette hits her on the arm.

“That is a lie,” she tells Grantaire.

“The dance?” Grantaire asks, anyway.

“Yes, we always have a dance in the last week of this term. To celebrate Christmas,” Cosette tells him with a bright smile.

“That sounds… fun?” he offers.

They laugh. “It is,” Musichetta says, cheerfully, “and while it _wasn’t_ what we were talking about just then, the point does stand. Do you think he’ll ask you?”

Grantaire rolls his eyes at them. “Of course he won’t. Don’t be ridiculous, we’ve only just started being _friends_.”

The girls just shrug.

Unfortunately for Grantaire, Enjolras chooses that moment to walk past them with Courfeyrac and Combeferre, and Musichetta and Éponine are awful enough to wickedly grin and say, “Let’s ask him.”

Grantaire lets out a noise that can only be described as a squeak as he tries to grab the two girls and stop them, which, because Grantaire’s life is one series of unfortunate events after another, only serves to catch Enjolras’ attention. The boy in question abandons his friends and heads in their direction.

Grantaire has one arm around Éponine’s neck and the other pressed against Musichetta’s mouth.

Enjolras raises an eyebrow, stopping in front of them. “I’m not going to say they didn’t deserve whatever you’re doing to them, R, but if you strangle Éponine then you will be in quite a bit of trouble,” he tells Grantaire. Then he laughs, softly, shaking his head. “What are you doing?”

Musichetta tries to say something, voice muffled by Grantaire’s hand, while Éponine struggles against Grantaire’s arm. Unfortunately for the two girls, Grantaire’s fairly strong after years of boxing and various other sports along the way.

But Grantaire had forgotten about Cosette. Innocent, sweet-as-a-flower, would- _never_ -betray-him-like-this, Cosette.

Grantaire panics as she steps around him and her two squirming friends, looking up at her brother with a smile. “So Enj, who are you planning to take to the Christmas dance this year?” she asks, wickedly.

Grantaire wants to die.

Enjolras’ expression flickers from mildly amused to very confused within seconds. “Uh…” he says, lacking his usual eloquence. His eyes flicker to Grantaire, and Grantaire goes bright red.

Cosette grins, and Éponine and Musichetta stop struggling.

Enjolras looks quite alarmed with what he’s being face with. “Well, no one,” he says, after a moment, a frown appearing on his face. “Do I usually take someone?”

Cosette groans. “No, you don’t, but don’t you think that this year it could make a nice change to take someone?”

Grantaire wants to kick her, but that would only rouse more suspicion.

When Enjolras switches to French, Grantaire feels his insides shrivel up a tad, because clearly he doesn’t want Grantaire to understand him. “[Is this about the person that is currently holding two of our friends hostage?]”

Cosette simply beams. “[Yes, it is. So…?]”

Enjolras’ cheeks go a little red, and Grantaire would find this amusing under other circumstances, but right now all he feels is self-conscious and nervous.

“[He’s my _friend_ ,]” Enjolras says.

“[So you keep saying,]” Cosette replies.

“[That’s because it’s true,]” Enjolras says, his voice sounding a little snappier now.

Grantaire shifts uncomfortably. If only he could speak French better.

Enjolras crosses his arms in front of his chest, and stands a little straighter, towering over Cosette who doesn’t seem at all phased. “[Let it go, Cosette.]”

She merely shrugs. “[Your loss,]” she says.

Enjolras glares at her for half a second, before he sighs and deflates. He pats her on the head, making her smirk, and then he turns on his heel to walk away. At the last second, he turns back to look at Grantaire. “Don’t strangle Éponine. I’d hate for you to be expelled.” Then he’s gone, walking back over to Courfeyrac and Combeferre who watched the whole thing with curious expressions.

Grantaire releases Musichetta and Éponine in order to shove Cosette lightly. “What did you do?” he hisses at her.

The little blonde grins. “Nothing. I’m just… planting ideas in his head.”

Grantaire frowns. “Okay, that makes it sound like you’re hypnotising your brother,” he informs her.

“No,” she says, dismissively. “I’m merely sending his thoughts down certain paths and letting him come to his own conclusion.”

Grantaire covers his eyes with his hand and groans. “I don’t want to know,” he says, walking away, dropping his hand. “I don’t want to know.”

The sounds of the girls’ giggling follows him and Grantaire wonders how much effort he’d have to go to to murder all three and dispose of the bodies. Too much effort, he thinks. Still…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's only been three days since i uploaded oh well i'm doing it anyway  
> ha ha ha i should be doing art right now okay i'm going to do that now  
> i was gonna make Jehan trans and write about clear signs of top surgery but all the information i could find leads me to think that you have to be 18 to get a mastectomy and well he's 17 in this fic if this isn't the case let me know? and i can write that in? if you want?  
> also yeah i wrote a couple of weeks passing in like three lines in this chapter i need time to be moving faster otherwise we'll still be here this time next year ahaha   
> i hope you're all still enjoying this!   
> the next chapter might not come for a little while because i have my art exam these upcoming weeks  
> so the next chapter might be in a week or (hopefully not) two weeks  
> i'll do my best to not make you wait :)


	15. You Make Me Feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> grantaire thinks about his parents in this chapter and there is mention of neglect and emotional abuse so if that's a trigger for you take care  
> i don't think it's that bad but i just wanted to be safe :) (there will be similar topics in future chapters too, if there's anything specific that you want warning for at the start of chapters, let me know! i wont ask questions)

The thing about Enjolras is that he’s always noticeable, but he’s rarely loud. Unless he has something important to say, in a group conversation he will oftentimes just listen.

Grantaire’s actually a little surprised by this, considering Enjolras’ reputation for being a loud-mouthed, strongly-opinionated, know-it-all (in the kind words of Éponine), but he’s more surprised when he finally hears the reason why Éponine refers to him in such a way.

Because, God, is Enjolras wrong – in _so_ many ways – and the things he’s saying are making Grantaire downright uncomfortable.

Grantaire’s sitting on the sofa, watching Enjolras, listening to him, and frowning; the naivety that comes from the usually so clever boy is astounding.

He’s talking like he does in their modern history class sometimes, but with much more fervour and a lot more blind optimism.

Grantaire tilts his head, and refrains from commenting. Part way through Enjolras’ little speech, he gets up and leaves.

Enjolras had been talking about better protection for kids with abusive family members, and while Grantaire’s parents hadn’t been physically abusive, he knows enough to know that there was at least a certain degree of emotional abuse and neglect in his childhood. It just feels as though Enjolras was trying to make a point to him specifically, and it just makes him feel sick.

Nothing will change, and talking about it’s not going to make a difference. Some people are just shitty parents and some kids are just shitty kids – that’s how it is.

Grantaire leans up against the wall outside the common room, frowning at the ground.

Was Enjolras saying those things to… make Grantaire feel like he has someone on his side? To _upset_ Grantaire?

The second doesn’t seem likely; from what Grantaire knows of Enjolras, he will defend his friends till his last breath, but the comments seemed like a personal attack – after all everyone knows that Grantaire’s parents are crap by now, maybe he thought it needed addressing.

It didn’t. It really didn’t.

Grantaire concentrates in breathing in and out, trying not to think about his parents.

Memories of living in their home flood through him, a cocktail of emotions that he doesn’t want: memories of them saying _we have friends over tonight, why don’t you stay out of the way?_ and _be quiet Grantaire, you don’t understand_ ;memories of sneaking out the window at 1am to find Claquesous waiting for him under the tree in their front yard, smoking a cigarette; memories of getting in trouble at school and having to sit in the headmaster’s office, kicking his heels and waiting for his dad to show up and yell at him on the car ride home.

Getting high because then he didn’t feel guilty at being a terrible child.

Talking back and getting disappointed looks in return.

Trying to talk to them and getting a vague _not now_ in response. (Not now? Not ever.)

His hands are shaking, and he twists his fingers together, rubbing at the backs of his hands. Don’t think about them. He’s over 18,000 kilometres from them now. They can’t – they won’t – reach him here.

What scares him the most is the knowledge that one day he won’t be here. Maybe at the end of this year he’ll go back to America, and he won’t be allowed to return.

The door to the common room clicks open then and Grantaire jumps out of his skin.

Enjolras slips out of the common room and looks surprised to see Grantaire standing there, but then the shock slips away into something like concern. “Are you okay?” Enjolras asks, stepping forwards, one hand coming up but hesitating. He drops his hand back to his side.

Grantaire pinches his lips together and nods. Then he shakes his head, and tears spike his eyes. “No,” he whispers.

Enjolras purses his lips, looking at him for a long moment, and then he tilts his head to the side a little. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk. I think you need to take your mind off things for a little while.”

Grantaire looks up at him and finds Enjolras’ smile and the shine in his eyes endearing. “Where are we going?” he asks him, raising his eyebrows questioningly, feeling shaken.

“Well,” Enjolras says, “I know that you’re still working on your music assignment, and I know that music is calming for you, so let’s go do that. I’ll listen and tell you my honest yet unqualified opinion on it.”

“Honest yet unqualified,” Grantaire echoes, his voice coming out sounding amused. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go do that.”

Tentatively, Enjolras wraps his fingers around Grantaire’s wrist, his finger brushing against Grantaire’s knuckles, and they’re almost holding hands, as he sets off, leading the way to the music room.

Grantaire stares at Enjolras for the first few steps, but then he ducks his head and concentrates on walking.

Arriving at the music room with Enjolras beside him when he’s on the verge of breaking down is starting to feel all too familiar.

“Come on, show me what you’ve got,” Enjolras says, gently pulling Grantaire over to the piano and sitting him down on the stool. Enjolras stands next to him, looking over his shoulder.

“What should I play?” Grantaire asks him, uncertainly.

“Whatever you want. You could play what you’re learning for your exam? Or… Or a song? Or… I don’t really mind. Just play me something.”

Grantaire hums under his breath, thinking hard. He doesn’t want to play his original pieces for Enjolras just yet, so instead he gets to his feet and goes over to the bookshelf that is packed with sheet music and various books of music.

“Oh,” Grantaire says, pulling a book off the shelf. “This one’s great. I’ve learnt it for Musichetta’s music exam, so I probably shouldn’t give you a sneak preview but I know I can play it, so…”

Enjolras smiles as Grantaire sits back down at the piano, setting the book up and opening it to a page. Written at the top in block text are the words **Apologize by OneRepublic**.

Grantaire doesn’t sing, no matter how much Enjolras tries to convince him to, but it doesn’t matter because they both know the words, and even if they didn’t, they’re written on the paper for them to see.

As his hands dance across the keys, gracefully and without flaw, he’s constantly aware of Enjolras’ presence at his shoulder. It makes him a little nervous, with Enjolras so close, but he knows this song backwards by now so it doesn’t hinder his performance. Besides, playing while not entirely relaxed and with an audience that he’s not used to is good practise.

When the last notes fade out, Grantaire holds his position, hands on the piano, unsure of what to say.

“That was _amazing_ ,” Enjolras tells him, sounding awed, and the praise burns like fire through Grantaire’s veins.

He manages a smile in return and looks back at his hands on the keys. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

“What else can you play?” Enjolras asks.

“Um, some classical stuff,” Grantaire says. “My mom was always keen on me learning the classics, so I’m pretty good at Chopin, and a few of Rachmaninoff’s.”

Enjolras moves round to the side, where Grantaire can see him, and Grantaire ducks his head. “Play me some of that, then,” Enjolras says, leaning up against the piano a little to listen and watch.

The first thing to pop into Grantaire’s head is Chopin’s Concerto No.1, the Romance Larghetto, so that’s what he plays. It’s actually not that complicated, but it sounds nice.

Grantaire’s used to people watching his hands while he plays, but he’s not used to the way Enjolras’ eyes don’t waver from his face the entire song. Every now and then, Grantaire’s eyes jump up to meet Enjolras’ gaze, but every time he quickly looks back at his hands, not sure what to do with the intensity that he finds in Enjolras’ eyes.

This time, when Grantaire finishes the piece, Enjolras says, “That was beautiful,” his voice gentle and quiet.

Grantaire looks up at him, unsure of what to say in response. After a moment, he simply says, “I always liked Chopin. His music always has a romantic feel to it, but sometimes it’s a little sad.”

Enjolras nods. “Yes, I got that impression from that piece.”

Grantaire shifts in his seat, dropping his hands from their place on the keys and twisting them together in his lap.

Enjolras seems to sense his discomfort, because he changes the topic of conversation quickly.

“I’m actually a musical prodigy, did you know that?” Enjolras says, sitting down on the piano stool next to Grantaire.

Grantaire is a little startled by Enjolras’ words, and he raises his eyebrows, something like humour within him. “Is that so?”

Enjolras nods, the very picture of seriousness. “Here, let me show you.”

Grantaire pinches his lips together and settles back a little as Enjolras ‘professionally’ sets himself up, fingers resting on the keys. “You’ve certainly got the air of a pretentious pianist,” Grantaire teases him, and Enjolras elbows him in the side for that comment. Then, very carefully and with precision, he begins to play chopsticks.

Grantaire manages not to laugh for almost an entire run through, but then he can’t hold it together any longer. He throws his head back as he laughs, and God, he really likes this idiot sat next to him. “Musical prodigy,” he chokes.

Enjolras grins at him. “Well,” he says, with a shrug, “maybe not so much.”

“Maybe not at all,” Grantaire responds.

“I resent that,” Enjolras tells him, raising one eyebrow perfectly.

Grantaire just laughs. “You would.”

Enjolras looks pleased at the sound of Grantaire’s laughter, and Grantaire feels himself blush a little. But Enjolras has successfully cheered him up, something that Grantaire should expect that Enjolras can do by now but it still surprises him, and Grantaire feels pretty relaxed.

“What else can you play?” Enjolras asks him, and then corrects himself. “I mean instruments. What other instruments can you play?”

Grantaire shrugs. “Um, well guitar, drums, the violin but not brilliantly, and the cello to the same level of the violin, a few other stupid instruments that have no use too.”

Enjolras looks suitably impressed. “Wow,” he says. “I can’t play anything.”

Grantaire shrugs again, little more than a jerk of his shoulders. “It’s not like it’s useful.”

“I think it’s incredible,” Enjolras says. “ _You’re_ incredible,” he adds, as if it’s the simplest thought in the world.

Grantaire flushes and looks down at his hands. “You can’t just say things like that,” he says, quietly. “It’s not fair.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras murmurs.

“It’s okay,” Grantaire replies, and neither one of them is looking at the other anymore.

“[I do not understand myself when I am with you,]” Enjolras says, and Grantaire’s head jerks up to look at him.

“What did you say?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras shakes his head, slowly. “Nothing of importance,” he says, and even to Grantaire it feels like a lie.

“Right,” Grantaire says, for lack of anything better to say. “Uh, well, I’ve got some homework to do,” he says awkwardly, a moment later. “I should-”

Enjolras gets to his feet. “Right. Yes, of course.”

Grantaire stands up, too, avoiding meeting Enjolras’ eyes. “I’ll see you later,” Grantaire mutters, and then he flees the room, leaving Enjolras standing there, alone.

As Grantaire walks back to the common room, he doesn’t really know what to think. Enjolras is a friend to him one moment, and a mystery the next. He doesn’t know Enjolras well enough to know whether he tells all his friends they are incredible in such soft tones, but even if he does, the words set his heart racing, hope bubbling up inside him where he doesn’t want the sensation.

He finds Jehan and Floréal playing cards in the boys’ common room, and he goes to fetch his music theory homework before settling down beside them to do his work and enjoy their company.

When Enjolras gets back, Combeferre and Courfeyrac both at his side, all three of them glance his way, and Grantaire quickly looks back at his work.

Blessedly, the awkwardness soon fades, as Jehan invites Courfeyrac into the card game, and all three of them come to join the table. Enjolras sits beside Grantaire, offering him a small smile.

Grantaire returns it, relieved that whatever happened in the music room hasn’t changed much.

Still, he wants to know what Enjolras said to him that had sounded so weighty, but he’s unsure who he should ask, or if he really wants to know the answer.

It could change everything, and it could change nothing.

All Grantaire really knows, as they sit there round the table, five playing cards and one scribbling down answers to simple music questions, is that he’s glad he has these friends, and that every time he looks at Enjolras, something feels right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading I actually can’t believe how great a response this fic has gotten me! It’s even gained me a friend – hi jess! (musichctta on tumblr *hint hint*)  
> You’re all incredible and I want to say thank you so much for your kudos and your comments  
> Also this next week or so is going to be all over the place for me with school work I hope to get another chapter up within the week but no promises!  
> The next chapter I want to develop R’s friendships with other people so enj might not be in it so much? Idk sorry just planning out my thoughts in the note section don’t mind me  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lZfvvkQor3Y - piano verson of apologize by onerepublic  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0_EE9XIfxZs&feature=related - the version of chopin’s concerto no1 that Grantaire plays bc obvs he doesn’t play the whole 10 minute thing though you should hear this version too - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tH1e93SJllE because it’s beautiful  
> I’m terribly sorry for forcing my love of chopin on you in this chapter aha  
> Also if anyone knows how to insert links into these notes bits that would be helpful???


	16. Intoxicated

Montparnasse and Éponine’s break-up, Grantaire is told, involved a lot of yelling, screaming, crying, and throwing of things. Unfortunately, or perhaps very fortunately, Grantaire missed the entire thing, and he suspects that Joly and Bossuet’s re-enactment took more than a little artistic licence due to the fact that it involved a brief rendition of _Take Me Or Leave Me_ from the hit musical _Rent_.

Even though he missed the actual fight, Grantaire sure catches the aftermath. So he grabs Éponine, along with her stash of alcohol and his stash of chocolate, and they go up to the roof and get lashed.

Honestly, Grantaire hadn’t realised that Éponine and Montparnasse had even been fighting, and from the way everyone else has been talking about it, neither had any of his friends. It’s clear now as Grantaire wipes away her tears, and listens as she screams, “That _fucking bastard_ ,” at the night, that something was really not right.

She rants about him, yelling about how he’s “such a dick”, and how he’s “not even that good in bed,” and Grantaire listens, because he sure wishes he’d had someone to listen to him yell after Claquesous.

However she’s smiling by the end of the night, so Grantaire counts it as a success.

Breaking off a strip of chocolate, she thoughtfully says, “I don’t know why I ever expected it to last.”

“Preaching to the choir,” Grantaire says, lifting his bottle in a mock-toast.

“Oh yeah?” she asks, eyebrow raised. “Who broke your heart?”

“Fucking Claquesous,” Grantaire growls, and he’s drunk enough to say whatever the fuck he wants. “Gorgeous as all hell but also a junkie, so hey what can you expect?”

“Oh, honey,” Éponine says, patting him on the shoulder with very little coordination.

“Oh,” Grantaire says suddenly, only just remembering. “Can you help me translate something?”

She nods. “What is it?”

He frowns, thinking hard. “Well I got the first part. ‘Je ne comprends pas’, that’s ‘I don’t understand’, right?”

She nods again.

“The rest I don’t have a clue,” he says. He thinks hard about what it was that Enjolras had said in the music room, almost a week ago. The alcohol in his system is not exactly helping. “Uh, there might have been a 'me’ in there and, uh, then, there was a ‘je suis’, in there, and, oh, it ended with ‘toi’?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Wow, what a lot to work with. What even is this that we’re trying to translate here?” she asks him.

“It’s something Enjolras said to me. He said it didn’t matter, but I- I want to know.”

She looks at him for a long moment, then mutters under her breath, “Je ne comprends pas je suis toi,” followed by, “well that’s not a fucking sentence,” and _then_ something that sounds like, “I’m too fucking drunk for this.” Then something crosses her face, like dawning light and she sits up. Looking at Grantaire with intent seriousness on her face she says, “Did he say ‘je ne me comprends pas quand je suis avec toi’?”

Grantaire thinks about it, and then nods. “Yeah- yeah, that sounds right.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” she says.

“What?” Grantaire asks. “What does it mean?”

She seems to consider him for a long while, pulling a face. Then she takes a large gulp of the alcohol. “Christ, I’m going to be so hung-over in class tomorrow,” she says, reminding Grantaire that it’s only Wednesday. She doesn’t answer his question.

“You’re not going to tell me what he said, are you?” Grantaire asks.

She shakes her head. “It’s not my place, and I don’t think he’d want me to.”

Grantaire just takes another drink.

When Éponine starts to shiver in the cold November night, they gather up their things and stumble back to their separate common rooms, Grantaire saluting Éponine as they separate.

Drunk and a little bit down – thoughts of Claquesous and Enjolras jumbling around – Grantaire pushes open the door to his common room and staggers inside. He doesn’t expect anyone to be inside, due to the lateness of the hour, and he doesn’t know how to react when he finds Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac curled up on one of the sofas together, some movie playing on the TV.

Grantaire blinks blearily at them all, and Combeferre gets to his feet, taking a step towards him. “Grantaire?” he asks. “Are you okay?”

The movie gets paused as Grantaire waves him off, trying his best not to look at Enjolras, but he’s glad that Combeferre stood up, because when Grantaire trips, Combeferre is fast enough to catch him.

Grantaire giggles, looking up at Combeferre, and he mumbles, “My hero,” patting Combeferre clumsily on the cheek.

Combeferre goes red, making Grantaire giggle more, because suddenly everything is a lot funnier than it had been mere moments before. Combeferre sighs, pulling Grantaire back to his feet, and Grantaire clings on to him. “Come on,” Combeferre says. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Grantaire snickers again. “I’m flattered,” Grantaire tells him, ignoring Combeferre’s eye roll, “but I don’t really want to have sex with you.”

Even drunk, Grantaire doesn’t miss the way Combeferre tenses. “Believe me I know,” Combeferre mutters and Grantaire peers at him.

There’s something not quite right here, and there’s definitely something he’s forgetting. “What?” he asks, thinking that Combeferre will just tell him what’s wrong.

“Nothing,” Combeferre says, and Grantaire sighs, letting his head loll against Combeferre’s shoulder. “Nope,” Combeferre says, “you’re not sleeping here. To bed with you.”

“I’d rather sit on the sofa,” Grantaire says, casting a look over to Courfeyrac and Enjolras and mostly Enjolras.

“I know you would,” Combeferre says. “Alright then, come on.” He helps Grantaire over to the sofa – that’s already too squished – and they squeeze in between Courfeyrac and Enjolras. Grantaire kicks off his shoes as he flops against Combeferre, looking up at him with a smile.

When someone puts their hands on his feet, Grantaire jumps somewhat dramatically, but he looks down at his feet and realises that they’re on Enjolras’ lap, and it’s just Enjolras’ hands. So he beams at Enjolras. He gets a tired smile in response and it makes Grantaire’s heart _soar_.

The movie starts up again, but Grantaire doesn’t really pay attention – his focus is centred on Enjolras’ hands as they lightly scratch the tops of his feet. He doesn’t realise he’s making an approving sound at first, until Combeferre looks at him with amusement and Enjolras’ hands still.

Grantaire makes a muffled protesting sound at the disappearance of the sensation, and he says, “Why?” because that’s all he can think of to say.

Combeferre laughs and Enjolras starts up the gentle scratching again.

Grantaire has always liked being scratched, which sounds odd, but there’s something nice about nails gently grazing over your back, or your feet, or wherever, really.

He makes a humming noise and lets his head fall back onto Combeferre’s shoulder. He’s unconscious before he even knows he’s falling asleep.

-

Grantaire wakes up in his own bed and his head _hurts_. His alarm clock is ringing too damn loudly on his bedside table, and he groans a curse into his pillow and wonders how Éponine is holding up.

His memory is somewhat foggy, and he’s completely uncertain as to how he got to bed last night, though something – _something_ – is nagging at his brain; there’s something he’s forgotten.

Deciding he really needs a shower, he drags himself out of bed, slamming his hand down on the clock to make it shut up.

He stumbles from his room, clutching clothes and a towel in his hands, and he focuses primarily on keeping one foot in front of the other.

The water in the shower when he gets there is hot and soothing, though does little to wake him up, so as the time passes, he gradually makes it run cooler, till the water flows cold. He shakes his head, waking himself further, and rubs at his eyes, dampening his face.

He’d kill for a coffee around about now.

At breakfast, Éponine raises her mug of coffee to him in a sarcastic and bitter toast across the table, and Grantaire loosely salutes her, wordless and exhausted.

“Rough night?” a voice asks him, and Grantaire turns to see Enjolras, something amused in the boy’s expression.

Grantaire groans, a growing sense of trepidation swelling in him. “Oh no, did I…?” Enjolras raises an eyebrow, and Grantaire sighs, continuing with, “Last night. When I was drunk. Did I… Did we talk?”

Enjolras grins. “You could say that.”

“Was anybody witness to our _conversation_ , so that I can ask them what embarrassing things I said, instead of having this conversation with you?” Grantaire asks, disappointed with his drunk self for going near Enjolras in that state.

Enjolras looks so amused by Grantaire that Grantaire at least feels he didn’t say something wildly inappropriate, but then, it is _him_ so there’s never been that much hope. At least he wasn’t high (he gets very ‘I just want my friends to be happy’ when he’s high, and is inclined to kiss people, because it just seems the _right thing to do_ ).

“Go on. Lay it on me,” Grantaire says. “What did I do?”

Enjolras laughs and shrugs. “Maybe I won’t tell you,” he says, raising his eyebrows, a challenge.

Grantaire looks back at him, flatly. “Why must you be the way that you are, Enjolras?”

Enjolras throws his head back in a laugh before patting Grantaire on the shoulder and walking away, like the mind-blowingly beautiful asshole that Grantaire knows he is.

Grantaire stares after him, like the pathetic and utterly besotted asshole that _he_ is.

Grantaire seeks solace in Éponine as they walk to music for first period. “I think I said something to Enjolras while I was drunk last night,” he admits, and she laughs.

And she continues to laugh. Grantaire hates her more and more as the seconds go by.

“I don’t know why I thought you’d be a comfort to me,” he tells her, making her grin at him.

“Okay, no, sorry, I’m being serious,” she says, and Grantaire doubts it. “What did you do?”

“I definitely made it back to the common room, but I remember getting side-tracked by Combeferre, and I know I got to bed at some point, but knowing me I tried to flirt with Enjolras first, because that’s the sort of person that I am, Éponine.” Grantaire sighs.

There are dark circles under Éponine’s eyes, but Grantaire doubts that he looks much better, and this is her fault anyway, so he’s going to put her through his complaining.

Music is spent mostly with Grantaire and Éponine sulking about how noisy everyone else is being, and Floréal and Musichetta being intentionally loud because, “You shouldn’t have been drinking on a Wednesday night, how could you be so irresponsible?” (“Oh, shut up Chetta, I know what you and Bossuet and Joly get up to,” is Éponine’s incredibly grumpy reply.)

After the double lesson, Grantaire is determined to find out what happened last night, and he’s pretty sure it involved smiling a lot, and maybe some cuddling? He seeks out Combeferre during the break, grabbing the boy by the arm and pulling him round to face him.

“What did I do to Enjolras last night?” he asks.

Combeferre’s face immediately splits into a grin and Grantaire groans. “What?” he demands.

Combeferre shrugs, attempting to feign nonchalance. “Nothing, really,” he says, elusively.

“Just tell me, oh my god,” Grantaire complains. “Did I… like, jump him? Or… Christ, did I _say_ anything? Like try to _tell him things_?”

Combeferre gives him a look that’s almost pitying, and says, “It was more… intense cuddling?”

“Intense cuddling,” Grantaire echoed, tonelessly.

“Yeah,” Combeferre confirms, a little awkwardly. “Well, you got back to the common room and insisted on staying with Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and I, and then when we tried to take you to your room, you kind of… _clung_ to Enjolras?” He voices it like a question, as if that will make it seem less awful to Grantaire.

“Kill me,” Grantaire says.

Combeferre smiles a little. “It wasn’t that bad, really. You just protested every time we tried to peel you off him.”

“ _Really,_ kill me.”

“It was kind of funny, actually.”

“I will _pay you_ to kill me.”

Combeferre laughs and pats him on the shoulder. “Honestly, it’s nothing to worry about,” he says, probably aiming for reassuring. “Would it make you feel better if I told you that it made him smile?”

Grantaire glares at Combeferre. “No, it wouldn’t, because I don’t believe you. Enjolras would not find me clinging onto him like a Goddamn _leech_ amusing or in any way endearing!”

Combeferre rolls his eyes. “That’s what you think.”

“It’s what I know,” Grantaire says, with a self-deprecating laugh.

At that moment, Floréal appears by his side with a ridiculous grin on her face. “I heard about what happened,” she says, gleefully.

Grantaire groans. He’s never going to live this down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has little to no relevance but I found out that taire in french means shut up and now I’m even happier that I made r reject it as a nickname upon arriving in france  
> It’s been over two weeks since I last updated I’m sorry I’m awful to you guys I’ve been so busy first with an art exam and then I was back at work this weekend and I was ill last week and I’ve been really tired and I’m soorrryyy  
> I will do my upmost to make sure that the next chapter is not so far away!!!  
> also just wanna say that most of my titles are either song lyrics, song titles, or lines from poems that has no relevance i just wanted to tell u (i'm really bad at coming up with titles)


	17. Fall Away

“[This is a very bad idea,]” Grantaire hisses at Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta through the dark.

Musichetta looks over her shoulder with a grin and waves off his concerns. “[We’ll be okay.]”

“You’ve done worse,” Joly adds. “Remember the midnight swim?”

Grantaire does his best to glare at Joly for bringing that up, though he’s not sure how much Joly saw.

“We still want details about that,” Musichetta adds.

“[I’m not saying anything,]” Grantaire tells them. “But seriously, if this gets me expelled I’m going to slaughter you all.”

Bossuet stifles a giggle, which turns into an, “oops,” as he trips over his feet and grabs Musichetta’s shirt to stop himself from face planting.

“Look,” Musichetta says, “they’re not going to expel us for decorating.”

“Decorating,” Grantaire echoes, blandly. “That’s what we’re calling it, are we?”

“It’s just a little Christmas cheer,” Joly says, with a grin.

“[Fantastic,]” Grantaire says, more than a little sarcasm in his voice.

Musichetta sticks her arm into the bag that she’s hauling around and pulls out a handful of tinsel, shoving it at Grantaire. “Get going, then.” Her eyes light up with the catching excitement of Christmas. Grantaire’s not really feeling it, to be honest, but his friends are happy, so he’ll go along with their ridiculous plan to decorate the school in tinsel if that’s what they want. And they do want that. So here he is.

Grantaire has been put in charge of decorating the main staircase, so he works his way down them, winding tinsel down the banisters, and then he works his way back up, scattering the glitter that Musichetta had bestowed upon him. He’s quite pleased with his work, and the other three have done their jobs well too.

They share a grin before heading back to their dorms and falling into bed.

When morning arrives, Grantaire takes his time getting out of bed, though he knows Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta will have been up early to see the reaction. When he finally makes it out into the corridors, it looks so much better in the light of day.

Joly’s fake snow lines the corridors and numerous students are leaning down to touch it, puzzled looks on their faces. Musichetta’s wash-away paint is on the floor in big letters at the foot of the stairs, across the hall, reading: JOYEUX NOËL!

Grantaire stands at the top of the stairs and grins.

Someone appears beside him and says, dryly, “Let me guess… Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta roped you into their Christmas shenanigans this year, didn’t they?”

Grantaire turns to look at Combeferre and grins. “I can neither confirm nor deny my possible involvement in the scene before us.”

Combeferre laughs, rolling his eyes, and then heads down the stairs, leaving Grantaire grinning. Grantaire skips down the stairs after him, enjoying the merry Saturday morning, and when he reaches the hall he laughs as he sees what Bossuet had been up to. There’s more ‘snow’ around the edges of the hall, and at each doorway, mistletoe hangs. He’s wound tinsel round table legs, and everything looks wonderful.

Slipping into his seat, Grantaire grins at Bossuet. “Nice work.”

He thanks Grantaire with a big grin. “The mistletoe’s the best,” he says, with a glance at one of the doors, where two younger students are standing, faces bright red, while their friends insist that they kiss because “those are the rules.”

“You’re truly evil,” Grantaire says, laughing.

“I do my best,” is Bossuet’s proud response.

Grantaire shakes his head as he laughs, and when Floréal flops down into the seat next to him, he gives her a big grin. “Hey, Flor,” he says. “[Do you like…] Uh, the… [Christmas?]”

She giggles, and says, “Nice French.”

He rolls his eyes at her. “You’re cruel. I’m trying my best. Do you like the decorations?”

She nods. “[They’re beautiful.]”

They lapse into their comfortable silence as both of them dig into breakfast. Éponine slouches in at one point, dropping down in between Grantaire and Bossuet with a sullen expression on her face.

“Christ,” Grantaire says, looking at her. “Who died?”

“My will to live,” she gripes, then adding, “and hopefully Montparnasse.”

“What’s he done?” Grantaire asks, actually a little concerned for his friend.

“Oh, nothing, really,” she sighs. “It’s more what he hasn’t done. For example, he hasn’t looked at me once since we broke up.”

Grantaire pulls a face. “He’s a dickhead.”

“No, he’s not,” she groans. “He’s a complete nerd.”

Next to Grantaire, Floréal lets out a giggle. Grantaire bites his lip to stop himself from doing the same.

“He _is_ ,” Éponine insists. “Did you know that he has an aesthetic blog? And- and one time he found this jacket in Forever 21, right?” her face falls a little, thinking about him, “and he wouldn’t buy it himself, because it was a women’s jacket? So- so he made _me_ buy it for him, and- and he was so… so _happy_. He’s such a fucking _loser_ , and I like him _so much_.” She sniffs, and Grantaire’s heart breaks a little for her. Scooting in closer, he wraps an arm around her and she leans into his shoulder.

“Hey there, come on,” Grantaire says, soothingly. “How about we go into town today? Do some shopping? Stock up on chocolate?”

Éponine shakes her head, getting back up to her feet, her entire body radiating weariness. “I think I’m just going to go back to bed. Maybe work on a composition for music.”

Grantaire nods in understanding. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

She gives him a half-smile. “I’m sure. You can drop round later if you want, though. We can watch a movie, or something?”

“Sounds great,” Grantaire agrees.

Both he and Floréal watch her walk away, out the hall, and when she’s gone, Floréal sighs. “Such sadness in one person.”

“Break-ups suck,” Grantaire says. Then he turns to Floréal. “Hey, do you wanna go into town? We could have the day to ourselves, and you could show me the sights.”

Floréal’s face lights up. “Yes,” she says. “That sounds wonderful!”

Grantaire grins and gets to his feet, helping her up and then offering her his arm. Giggling, she takes it, and they walk across the hall together. Going through the door, Grantaire glances up at the mistletoe and he leans in to give Floréal a kiss on the cheek. She blushes and giggles, and ducks her head.

“I’ll just go get some money from my room,” Grantaire tells her, and they part ways, agreeing to meet in the entrance hall.

When he goes back through the common room, on his way to meet Floréal, Enjolras stops him by sticking his foot out from the couch and kicking Grantaire’s leg as he passes. Amused, Grantaire looks down at the boy, sprawled across the sofa.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Enjolras asks.

As much as Grantaire would have _loved_ to watch a movie with Enjolras – movies are the _perfect_ snuggle opportunity – he promised Floréal. “Sorry, I’ve got plans. I’m going into town.”

“Oh,” Enjolras says, looking a little disappointed. “Could I come?” he asks.

Grantaire pulls a face. “Sorry,” he says. “Just me and Flor. We’re making a day of it.” He gives Enjolras a smile, and ignores the way Enjolras’ answering smile doesn’t look completely genuine.

“Oh,” Enjolras says, again. “That sounds… nice. That’s nice. Have a good time.”

Grantaire smiles and says that he will and leaves Enjolras, feeling a little guilty about the crestfallen expression on the boy’s face.

When he meets Floréal in the entrance hall, however, and her face shows her excitement for the day, all the guilt and wishes that he could stay with Enjolras simply fall away.

She chatters away for most of the day, an odd mix of both French and English, and both of them have communication issues at times, but she shows him her favourite art shop, and gallery, and bookstore, and café, and even takes him down to the lake, where they sit and eat their lunch on the grass, watching the gentle ripples in the water.

It’s cold now, at the very start of December, but sitting there with Floréal was enjoyable, nonetheless. Grantaire smiled at her as he lay back on the grass, and she lay down too.

Now, they’re sitting on the bus back to school, side-by-side, sharing Grantaire’s earphones to listen to music.

When they get back to the school, as they’re walking up the stairs towards the boys’ common room, Floréal yawns and slips her hand into Grantaire’s, linking their fingers together.

They’re still holding hands when they wander into the common room, collapsing onto a sofa and dropping the things they’ve bought and their coats and shoes onto the floor. Floréal mumbles something about not wanting to move ever again, and Grantaire privately agrees. Floréal leans her head against his shoulder, yawning again.

Grantaire leans back into the sofa, letting himself sink into the squishy cushions, and his eyes drift closed, tired after a long day of walking around. It doesn’t take long till he hears Floréal snoring softly where she’s curled up against him. He glances down at her, smirking. He goes back to his dozing pretty quickly though.

When there’s a loud clatter as the door from the bedrooms swings open, Grantaire opens his eyes a little to peek through his lashes. He keeps up his pretence at sleep, watching Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac come into the room, chattering and laughing. He watches the way the three of them notice him and Floréal, becoming quieter instantly, and he sees the way Enjolras comes to a dead-stop, staring.

“Oh,” he says.

Combeferre looks between Enjolras and Grantaire, and Courfeyrac pulls a face and says, “It’s called friendship, Enjolras.”

Enjolras gives him a sharp look, and Grantaire stops sneaking a look, closing his eyes properly again, as Enjolras says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Courfeyrac.”

Courfeyrac sniggers, and there’s a dull sound, like someone just whacked him on the arm – probably Enjolras.

*

The next Monday finds Grantaire with his head on the desk for most of modern history class. His music class is driving him to desperation with this assignment, and it’s seriously taking up most of his time and energy.

When the bell rings for end of lesson, he gets to his feet, mind spinning with notes and ideas and general music.

“Ready for lunch?” Enjolras says, standing beside him as he always does before lunch when they walk together.

Grantaire smiles at him, pulling his bag onto his shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, then, “Hey, what’s your favourite song?”

Enjolras looks like he’s really thinking about it as they both start towards the door. Enjolras’ hair is pulled back in a bun today, but there’s a bit that has escaped, and Grantaire actually has to talk himself out of tucking it back into place. His hand twitches, but Enjolras beats him to it, pushing the hair behind his ear, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“I don’t know if I have one,” he says at last, as they exit out into the hallway.

Grantaire’s about to respond – to tell Enjolras not to be ridiculous, because _everyone_ has a favourite song – when Floréal appears out of nowhere.

“R,” she says, with a bright smile. “You have to come with me.”

Grantaire glances back at Enjolras for a moment. “[Where?]” he asks Floréal.

“[I’ve had the perfect idea for my music assignment and I need your help. We can get lunch after, I promise.]”

Grantaire blinks. “I didn’t understand any of that,” he says, honestly. Both he and Floréal look to Enjolras expectantly, and the boy sighs.

“She wants you to help with her music thing,” Enjolras tells Grantaire.

“Oh!” Grantaire says, now smiling. “Sure.”

He’s just about to follow Floréal when Enjolras says, “But-,” half-heartedly.

Grantaire looks over at him and blinks in surprise at the look on Enjolras’ face.

“We were-” Enjolras says. “I mean- Lunch?”

Grantaire smiles. “You can manage to get to the lunch hall on your own, surely, Head Boy?” He glances between Floréal and Enjolras and says, “I’ll see you later, right? I’ve really gotta help Flor with this.”

Enjolras nods. “No, right, of course. Yeah, I’ll see you later, then.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire echoes.

Floréal grabs Grantaire’s hand and starts tugging him off down the corridor, and when Grantaire glances back over his shoulder, he can’t help but notice the way Enjolras hasn’t moved – staring after them with something of a forlorn expression on his face.

Enjolras notices Grantaire looking back at him apparently, because his expression quickly shifts into a smile and he lifts his hand in a wave before turning to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ur comments mean so much to me thank you they light up my heart  
> some days I wish I hadn’t gone for solely grantiare pov because it’s SO HARD to make it clear what everyone else is thinking and doing when it’s just grantaire this grantaire that and goddamn I wanna write about joly bossuet and musichetta or like idk combeferre’s inner thoughts about e and r without him saying them aloud or enjolras’ feelings towards r and aahhhh   
> but no  
> this is what I chose and this is what I’m sticking with (made my bed now lie in it and all that)  
> also I actually googled whether they have forever 21 in france and they do in like three places there are like three whole stores in the whole of the country apparently amazing  
> oh and I decided that since I did say in like chapter 1 that courf is american it’s totally okay to have him defaulting to english at times when he would probably actually speak french let’s just say that his parents are american having moved to france when courf was a kid and they speak english to him bc their french is pretty poor and while he’s fluent in french he speaks english easier   
> wow character backstory in the notes pretty sure I’m meant to write that shit in the actual fic nice going cait A*  
> I’m having a little trouble with some chapters because while I know where this is going and I have certain major plot points, there are chapters in between said plot points where I’m making it up as I go along   
> if there’s anything u specifically want to see happen please let me know and it might actually help me!   
> if u made it this far in this end note and actually read every word then kudos to you


	18. Talking Just To Breathe

Having finished up their rehearsal of  Floréal’s piece for her assignment – still little more than working out what songs to play and having a shift around of how they would fit together – the pair of them are sitting on the floor of the music room, flitting through sheets of music idly.

“The Christmas dance is soon,” she says. Grantaire looks over at her, waiting for her to say something more – because there’s clearly something on her mind. She clears her throat and rubs at the back of her neck. Eventually she continues. “Combeferre asked me to go with him.”

Grantaire tries to hide his surprise but, really – that comes as quite a shock. He raises one eyebrow. “Did you say yes?”

She shrugs. “No. I didn’t say no. I didn’t say yes. I- If it was anyone else to ask me… Combeferre’s very serious about everything.”

“So… He wouldn’t just ask you for nothing,” Grantaire concludes. “Do you want me to ask him about it?”

She shoots him an alarmed look. “[No! No, Grantaire, don’t say anything to him – what if he thinks I _like_ him? It would be weird and embarrassing!]”

Grantaire looks at her, bewildered. “So, I didn’t really catch any of that.”

Floréal flushes, and mumbles, “He would think I like him.”

Grantaire puts down the sheet music for **Say Something by A Great Big World** and looks at her seriously. “Do you? Do you like him, Flor?”

She shrugs again.

Grantaire decides not to press the issue unless she prompts the conversation, since he’s never seen Floréal look so uncertain about something.

-

Later that day, after lessons, when he goes to find Combeferre to talk to him about it – in a way that hopefully will not upset either Floréal or Combeferre – Grantaire’s a little concerned that he’s accidentally taken some hallucinogenics as he comes across Musichetta and Marius yelling at each other in a language that is definitely not French or English. He’d guess that it’s Spanish.

“Woah!” he yells, trying to get between them. “Why are you shouting?”

They blink at him in surprise, and then Musichetta starts to laugh. “No, sweetie, we’re just practicing.”

“Practicing what?” Grantaire asks in confusion.

“Our Spanish,” Marius explains. “We found out that it’s a good way to practice talking in Spanish without planning out everything you are going to say beforehand.”

“Keeps you on your toes, y’know?” Musichetta says with a grin.

Grantaire shakes his head in wonder at the pair of them, but thinking about it, it’s probably actually very helpful. Maybe he can convince Courfeyrac to yell with him for a bit. Then again, yelling’s more Enjolras’ speed.

“Alright,” he says, slowly. “Good luck with that.”

He tries to continue on to Combeferre’s room, thinking that’s a good place to find him, walking past Jehan and Bahorel who are giggling about God knows what, but he gets side-tracked by a Montparnasse who is desperately trying to convince him to talk to Éponine for him. 

Trying to shake Montparnasse off his wrist, Grantaire hesitantly says, “I don’t know, man, shouldn’t you talk to her yourself about this shit?”

Montparnasse sighs. “Do you think I haven’t _tried_? She won’t come anywhere _near_ me!”

Grantaire shrugs, weakly. “I’m really not-” He sighs. “Look, just go say you forgive her for whatever shitty thing she did that made you break up with her.”

“I didn’t-”

He stops himself too late and Grantaire frowns. “Wait. _She_ broke up with _you_?”     

“No,” Montparnasse says. “It was a mutual thing. Sort of. It’s complicated.”

Grantaire rolls his eyes. “God, are you _twelve?_ ” he asks, despairingly. “Just go and say sorry. I don’t care what she did or didn’t do. I’m not the Goddamn relationship counsellor.”

Finally he shakes off Montparnasse – who, instead of going and finding Éponine, instantly goes back to his silent brooding thing that he’s had going on for the past week (or ever since Grantaire met the guy).

This time, he actually makes it into the hall, all the way to Combeferre’s door, before he gets stopped. Joly and Bossuet practically jump him, making him stagger a few steps, shrieking.

“What the hell?” he cries out, only just stopping himself falling to the floor under the weight of his two friends.

“Musichetta has created a piggy-back obstacle course in the girls’ common room and we need a fourth!” Joly says excitedly, jumping down off Grantaire’s back.

Grantaire’s whole being goes from confusion and alarm to _fucking thrilled_. “Holy shit,” he says.

It’s at that moment that Combeferre sticks his head out into the hallway and Grantaire realises what he was doing.

“Grantaire? Can I have a word?” Combeferre asks and Grantaire groans.

“Sorry guys,” he says to Joly and Bossuet. “I need to talk to Ferre right now, but I’ll come by later. Hey, maybe you can convince Floréal to take part, but I mean, I don’t think she can carry you guys.”

Joly and Bossuet kick their heels and look a bit downhearted but they let him go.

Following the boy into his room, Grantaire’s a little confused as to what’s going on. Combeferre’s got a very serious expression on his face – and it’s not something Grantaire knows how to respond to, so Grantaire launches into the reason why _he_ wants to talk to _Combeferre_ and not the other way round.

“So, Floréal told me that you asked her to the dance,” he says, raising an eyebrow and waiting for Combeferre to elaborate.

Combeferre pauses before he cautiously answers, “I did.”

Grantaire looks at him solemnly. “What- I mean- What are your intentions about that? Because she thinks- She thinks you like her.”

“Who’s saying I don’t?” Combeferre asks.

“I am,” Grantaire replies. “Not to mention _you_ are, when you say things about liking Enjolras or- or liking _me_.”

Combeferre doesn’t look even slightly surprised by that, instead, he smiles, ruefully. “How do you know about that?”

Grantaire bites his lower lip, suddenly feeling a little guilty for throwing that at Combeferre so suddenly. “I overheard you and Courf talking. A few weeks ago.”

Combeferre nods. He seems a little at loss as what to say, and he sinks onto his bed. Hesitantly, Grantaire moves to sit next to him.

“I need to get over him,” Combeferre says, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Grantaire doesn’t know what to do. He moves to sit by Combeferre on the bed, but he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Should he touch Combeferre? Give him a hug? He settles on just staring at his knees, quietly.

“Honestly, Grantaire – and this is going to sound ridiculous – I don’t know how not to love Enjolras. He’s just been _there_ for so long, but the fact of the matter is,” Combeferre sighs, and Grantaire feels a rush of sympathy towards his friend, “I have to admit that he’s never going to love me back, no matter how much I might want him to,” he finishes tightly.

“It’s not like he likes me, though,” Grantaire says, knowing it’s not a comfort, really.

“He does, though,” Combeferre says. “I don’t know if you and Enjolras have really talked about his life, or anything, and if you haven’t then I’m not going to spill his secrets, but, like, Enjolras doesn’t really have an easy time of it letting people in. And- And he’s a little- well- emotionally stunted, really, to put it bluntly. Courfeyrac and I have been in his life a long time, and we care about him a lot and… I think you’re good for him,” Combeferre says, and he honestly looks like the words are destroying him. “I think _he’s_ good for _you_.”

“Combeferre,” Grantaire says softly.

“You’d be good for each other,” Combeferre finishes, nodding, as if trying to convince himself more than Grantaire.

Unthinking, Grantaire wraps his arms around Combeferre, pulling him into a rough hug. “You are too decent a person, Combeferre,” Grantaire whispers. Combeferre’s arms slip around Grantaire, and it feels like Combeferre is about to say something back when the door flies open unexpectedly.

“[I am going out of my _mind_! What the hell is ‘I’ll see you later’?]” Enjolras shouts, storming into Combeferre’s room, and Grantaire and Combeferre jump out of their skin. “[He’s driving me _senseless_ and I don’t know what to _do_ and-] Oh. Hi, Grantaire.” He stares at the two of them on the bed, clearly not knowing what to do with himself. “Am I-” he gives Combeferre a wide-eyed look, “Am I interrupting something?”

Grantaire feels himself go red, but by his side, Combeferre grins. “Yes, actually,” he says, and Grantaire might have to kill him, “Grantaire and I were just about to have an afternoon shag, would you care to join us?” _really_ kill him.

Grantaire settles for whacking Combeferre on the arm as Enjolras stumbles over words. “He’s messing with you, Enjolras. Did you want something? You seemed pretty mad; I can leave, if you want.”

Enjolras just looks between the two of them, incredibly flustered, and he finally says, quietly, “[I need to talk to you, Combeferre, and it’s really important.]”

Grantaire frowns at the use of French, but gives Combeferre’s hand a squeeze before he hops to his feet and gives Enjolras a cheerful smile nonetheless. “I’ll be on my way then. See you around, Ferre, Enjolras.”

Maybe Grantaire entertains the idea of hanging around outside the door to see if he can hear what had Enjolras so riled up, but then he remembers that he doesn’t speak French that well at all.

As he walks away, he realises that they didn’t _really_ talk about Floréal, or whatever Combeferre wanted to talk about either.

-

“Come _on_ , R, _please_ ,” Cosette begs, pouting.

“I don’t dance, Cosette,” Grantaire says.

With one week till the Christmas dance, Cosette is desperately pleading with Grantaire to help her and Marius learn to dance.

“That is a dirty lie,” she says. “I know you can dance – I’m sure of it.”

“I didn’t say I _can’t_ ,” Grantaire explains, tiredly. “I said I _don’t_.” Just another thing Claquesous ruined for him.

“Why not?” she asks.

“I don’t like dancing anymore, Cosette, would you drop it?”

There’s a knock on Grantaire’s door, then, and Grantaire yells, “Come in!” while Cosette sulks next to him.

Enjolras peers round the door, and looks surprised to see Cosette there. Cosette, on the other hand, suddenly looks thrilled. She gives Grantaire a wink and slides off the bed. “I’ll be in my common room, Grantaire, should you change your mind,” she says, and then she sashays out the door, nudging her step-brother with her hip as she goes.

Enjolras watches her go, and then asks, “Change your mind about what?”

Grantaire sighs, rolling his eyes. “She wants me to teach her and Marius how to dance.”

“I thought you didn’t dance,” Enjolras says, frowning.

“I _don’t_ ,” Grantaire agrees. “Which is why she wants me to change my mind.”

“Oh,” Enjolras says, and then he shifts his weight to the side, fidgeting and playing with the hem of his shirt with his right hand.

“You coming in?” Grantaire asks, watching the boy who’s still standing in his doorway.

“Uh, yeah,” Enjolras says, and moves inside the room, shutting the door behind him.

Grantaire sits up a little straighter and gestures at the bed, motioning for Enjolras to come sit down. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Enjolras says, instantly, as he flops down onto the bed, next to Grantaire, and then he says, “Well, I mean- I was wondering…” He pulls a face and rubs at the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m sure you’ve heard about Floréal and Combeferre going to the dance together, right? Only Combeferre and I usually go together – as friends, you know?”

Grantaire winces in sympathy for Combeferre. “Right?” Grantaire says questioningly, not really sure where this is going.

“So, I, um, I was wondering, if maybe… you wanted to go with me?” he asks in a rush, looking incredibly uncertain.

Grantaire blinks in surprise. “You mean… as friends?” he asks.

Enjolras’ cheeks go slightly red, and he nods, hurriedly. “Right. Right, yeah, as friends,” he echoes.

Grantaire smiles. “Sure. I’d love to.”

Enjolras’ face lights up in a big smile, and before Grantaire really knows what’s happening, Enjolras has dragged him in for a hug. Grantaire laughs, softly, and hugs Enjolras back.

“Did you really think I’d say no?” Grantaire asks, when they pull away.

Looking faintly embarrassed, Enjolras shrugs. “I thought maybe you’d want to go with someone else.”

“Like _who_?” Grantaire asks, incredulously.

Enjolras shrugs again, but it’s clear that he can’t keep the grin off his face, and Grantaire’s heart is beating a little too fast. _Just friends_ , he reminds himself. They’re going as friends. Grantaire grins back.

Enjolras gets to his feet then. “I should go,” he says. “Courfeyrac’s making Combeferre and I help him with something for his drama class.”

Grantaire laughs. “I’d pay to see you try and act.”

Enjolras actually sticks his tongue out at Grantaire, and Grantaire can’t help but beam up at this boy that he feels such fondness for. “I’m a very good actor, thank you very much,” Enjolras says, primly.

Grantaire laughs again, and Enjolras give him one last smile and a quick wave as he ducks out the door.

Grantaire follows suit shortly after, but he heads off to the girls’ dorms instead. Pushing open the door, he announces, “Grab your boyfriend, Cosette. I’m gonna teach you how to dance.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna hold off and update this in a couple of days and try and get ahead on writing so there's never a really long gap but i figured what the hell
> 
> there was a ridiculous amount of talking and not-talking about feelings in this chapter wow I mean yeah enj totally asked grantaire to the dance as friends that’s what he meant just friends yup 
> 
> next week (or y’know… next chapter, whenever that may be): THE DANCE woah


	19. Your Hand In Mine

Saturday evening comes around and Floréal, dressed in a sky-blue, short dress with a gorgeous pink floral print, looks at herself in the mirror and smiles. Standing behind her, Grantaire beams. She looks incredible. Her hair is plaited to the side for now, but as Grantaire watches, she undoes it and carefully runs a comb through it, amplifying her natural curls. She then sprays it with hairspray, so that it’ll stay in the right style for at least half the night. Finally, she adds a layer of pink lipstick to her lips and turns around to smile at Grantaire.

“[You look beautiful,]” he tells her, honestly.

“You look very handsome,” she replies, reaching up to straighten his tie.

They’d gotten ready together in her room, and outside the door they can hear the other girls and Jehan talking loudly as they get ready. Grantaire holds open the door and allows Floréal to sweep out into the corridor.

Once there, they find Éponine pulling up her strapless royal blue dress and manhandling her boobs into position, her face scrunched up in annoyance.

“Boy, if I wasn’t gay before,” Grantaire teases her.

“Be quiet, you tiny bisexual,” Éponine replies and Grantaire bursts out laughing.

“You look very nice, Éponine,” he then says truthfully, and she gives him a warm smile.

“That suit _does_ look good on you,” she says. He grins and gives her a twirl to fully show off the suit, to which she waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

The others come out of Musichetta’s room then, clearly having either all gotten changed in there, or they’d been helping Musichetta get into her dress. Looking at her, Grantaire wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter reason.

She’s wearing a gorgeous, skin-tight, red dress, and Grantaire feels both a twinge of sympathy and jealousy for Joly and Bossuet. They don’t stand a chance of survival, but holy shit, are they lucky. Something must show in his expression because Musichetta winks at him. Grantaire pretends to swoon.

Cosette’s dress is silver and it shimmers and sparkles when she moves, and Grantaire can’t help but feel that she looks like the stars.

Jehan’s suit is a three piece suit of grey fabric and he looks phenomenal. “Hot _damn_ , Jehan,” Grantaire says, looking him up and down approvingly.

Jehan blushes. “Do I look alright?” he asks, fidgeting with the hem of his blazer.

“More than alright,” Grantaire says.

Éponine swoops in on Jehan to give him a kiss on the cheek, and that alone seems to bolster the boy’s confidence.

Grantaire, Jehan, and the girls all head over to the boys’ wing, then, ready to either pick up their dates (Grantaire, Floréal, Musichetta, Cosette, Jehan) or to at least be with the crowd (Éponine – who may be single but still looks fierce, and will probably have Montparnasse on his knees by the end of the night).

As they go in, Grantaire looks around the common room at all his friends and wolf-whistles. “Looking good boys,” he calls out.

“ _And_ -?” Feuilly prompts, grinning at him with raised eyebrows.

“And one lady,” Grantaire adds, winking at her. Feuilly laughs and goes back to tying her tie as neatly as she can.

“Hey, Grantaire,” Combeferre says. “Enjolras is still in his room if you- Wow.” He breaks off as Floréal comes into the common room behind Grantaire. Floréal blushes as Combeferre stares at her, open-mouthed. “Floréal,” he says, softly. “[You look- _incredible.]_ ”

Grantaire grins, and leaves them to it, slipping past them and through to Enjolras’ room.

He finds Enjolras staring at himself in his mirror.

“Hey, now,” Grantaire says, teasing. “We all know that you’re more than classically beautiful, but you can’t stare at yourself all day.”

Enjolras’ eyes meet his in the mirror, and then he grins. Not turning round, his eyes flick down and up Grantaire, and he says, “You look amazing.”

Grantaire blushes and says, “Not next to you.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. Turning round, he looks properly at Grantaire, and he smiles. “Ready for the party?”

Grantaire hums in thought. “Will there be alcohol?”

Enjolras laughs. “Don’t you remember what happened last time you got drunk here?”

Grantaire cringes internally, but he does laugh too. He says, “I already said I’m sorry about that,” making Enjolras laugh.

“Do you want another hug?” Enjolras asks, teasingly, advancing towards Grantaire and opening his arms.

Grantaire bursts out laughing and starts backing away, holding out his hands to stop Enjolras. “No!” he protests – internally begging _yes_.

Enjolras pouts and continues to move forward, feigning hurt and confusion. “But you were so keen on hugging me before,” he whines, and he can’t keep the grin off his face.

“You’re such a dork,” Grantaire laughs. “We have a party to get to!”

Enjolras laughs too. “But you haven’t given me a hug yet!”

Grantaire rolls his eyes, and then he grabs Enjolras’ hand and presses it to his lips, keeping eye contact, and Enjolras blushes, so Grantaire counts that as a success. “Is that good enough?” he asks, and revels in the way Enjolras doesn’t seem to know what to say. Grantaire drops his hand and grabs him by the shoulders, pushing him to the door, then. “Let’s knock ‘em dead,” he says, with a grin, and Enjolras glances over his shoulder to grin back.

*

Grantaire watches as Cosette spins Marius around the hall, feeling oddly proud. Near them, Jehan and Bahorel are swaying side to side, gazing into each other’s eyes with happy smiles on their faces. Instinctively, he then looks for Courfeyrac, expecting him to be near his boyfriends. He frowns when he sees the boy standing alone at the side of the hall, watching his boyfriends dance with a less than happy expression on his face.

Grantaire makes his way over to the boy, ditching Enjolras with Combeferre and Floréal. “You alright?” he asks, when he gets close enough.

Courfeyrac startles, and immediately tries to smile. It wobbles a bit, and doesn’t look at all convincing. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Grantaire gives him a disbelieving look, and Courfeyrac’s attempt at a smile slides right off his face. “No,” he admits. “But you don’t need to worry about it. Especially not tonight. You’ve got a handsome friend-date somewhere that I’m sure would love to dance with you. Or, well, not _love_ to dance with you, but probably would anyway if _you_ wanted to.” By the time he’s finished talking, he looks thoroughly miserable.

“Do _you_ want to dance with me?” Grantaire asks Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac actually manages a smile then. “Yeah, that would be pretty cool.”

Grantaire holds out his hand with a warm smile. “Come on then.”

Once out on the dance floor, he puts his hands on Courfeyrac’s waist, while Courfeyrac wraps his arms around Grantaire’s neck, and they slowly dance to the music. “Do you want to talk about it?” Grantaire asks.

Courfeyrac sighs. “Have you ever been with someone… and, like, you thought you were in love with them, but then you realise that maybe you’re not quite as in love with each other as you’d like to think?”

Grantaire pulls a face in pity. “Yeah. Yeah, I have.”

Courfeyrac nods, sadly. “Yeah.”

“I thought you guys were doing great though,” Grantaire says, trying to work out where this is all coming from.

“We _were_ ,” Courfeyrac says. “…and then we weren’t. I don’t know. Things just feel different. I still really like those guys, but we just… drifted, I guess. I don’t think I should stay with them.”

“Seems like everybody’s breaking up,” Grantaire says, when he can’t think of anything else to say.

“Ép and Parnasse will get back together,” Courfeyrac says. “They’ve broken up before. Believe it or not, they’re really good for each other.”

Grantaire smiles at him, but Courfeyrac looks heartbroken, so he pulls the smaller boy in for a tight hug, squeezing him. Courfeyrac clings to him.

“Hey,” someone says, and Grantaire and Courfeyrac look up to see Jehan and Bahorel. “I thought you didn’t want to dance,” Jehan says.

Courfeyrac’s boyfriends are looking at him with confused, hurt expressions, and Grantaire doesn’t know what to do. Courfeyrac manages to smile at them, though, and says, “R couldn’t get Enjolras to dance so I said I would.”

“Ah,” Bahorel says, and everyone present knows that Courfeyrac was lying. Grantaire gives Courfeyrac a squeeze.

“I’m going to get a drink,” he says, and then slips away, ignoring Courfeyrac’s pleading look. He grabs a coke off the side and then goes to sit by Enjolras (who looks amazing), Combeferre (who’s doing a pretty good job at ignoring his date), and Floréal (who’s watching Cosette and Marius dance).

“Hey, Combeferre,” Grantaire says, as he approaches. His three friends look up. “I think Flor probably wants to dance.”

Combeferre looks at his date in surprise, and quickly says, “[ _Do_ you want to dance?]”

She replies, “[That _would_ be nice,]” and that’s all it takes for Combeferre to grab her by the hand and pull her out onto the dancefloor, Floréal laughing happily as she goes. Grantaire watches them go, smiling.

“Hey, you,” Enjolras says, catching his attention, and Grantaire slides into Combeferre’s vacated seat.

“Hey,” Grantaire says back. “I don’t suppose you’re going to dance with me, are you?”

“You seemed to be alright with Courfeyrac,” Enjolras replies.

“Ooh,” Grantaire says, teasing. “Were you _watching_?”

Enjolras – bless him – actually goes red. “ _No_ ,” he says, sounding mortified, and that only makes Grantaire laugh.

“Don’t worry,” Grantaire says. “I’d watch you if you were dancing.”

Enjolras, though Grantaire hadn’t thought it possible, gets even redder. “Gran _taire_ ,” he whines. “I _wasn’t_. You were dancing with my friend; I just looked over, oh my God, shut up.”

“You’re getting flustered,” Grantaire grins, enjoying this very much.

Enjolras glares at him, and Grantaire relents. “Seriously though, you can either sit there like the stuck-up French bastard that you are,” Grantaire says, getting to his feet and standing in front of his ‘date’ with his hands on his hips, “ _or_ , you can get up off your ass and dance with me.”

He holds his hand out to Enjolras expectantly. Enjolras glances around, almost nervously, and then the corner of his mouth edges up into a smile.

 “One dance,” he says.

Grantaire’s face lights up. Enjolras takes Grantaire’s hand and lets him guide him out onto the dance floor. If Enjolras’ hands shake a little, well, Grantaire’s not going to comment.

As Grantaire pulls Enjolras round to face him, Enjolras mutters, “And besides, everyone here is a ‘stuck-up French bastard’, Grantaire, _you’re_ the odd one out, you American ass – not me.”

Grantaire can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him. “Touché,” he replies.

Enjolras smiles too, a little wryly, and replies, “[You’re almost getting the hang of French].”

“[Fuck you],” Grantaire replies in Enjolras’ first language, making the blond laugh.

Enjolras relaxes a little as Grantaire leads their dance to the slow song that’s playing. Enjolras’ eyes never move from Grantaire’s face and Grantaire would feel self-conscious, if he could feel anything other than the overwhelming happiness that he feels with Enjolras in his arms.

It’s getting quite late, and later Grantaire will use his slight tiredness as an excuse if Enjolras mentions it, but he ends up with his forehead pressed to Enjolras’ as they dance slowly. He gazes into Enjolras’ blue eyes and he feels immensely lucky to be here.

Enjolras glances away suddenly, and Grantaire follows his gaze to see Musichetta talking with the person in charge of the music. She’s pointing at the screen of the laptop that’s being used to play music through the speakers, clearly requesting a song, and Grantaire pauses to see what she’s going to pick – knowing Musichetta, it could be anything.

Grantaire’s a little surprised when the song that plays isn’t a cheesy pop song, but a soft slow song that Grantaire doesn’t recognise.

Enjolras says, “Oh,” softly, and when Grantaire’s eyes find him again, it’s to find Enjolras smiling down at him. Grantaire fleetingly frowns in confusion, but it’s a happy sort of confusion.

The lyrics are – as they have been mostly – in French, so Grantaire’s not really sure what the song is saying, but Enjolras breathes out and mouths along to a couple of lines as he spins Grantaire around.

“What does the song say?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras chuckles. “Have you ever read Jehan’s poetry?”

Grantaire shakes his head. “No,” he says, smiling.

“Well, it’s similar to that, if you ever get the pleasure,” Enjolras tells him.

Apparently, not everyone is enjoying the slow-dance music, because someone yells something in French that makes a lot of the students cheer, and then, suddenly, Uptown Funk is playing, and pretty much everyone is on their feet.

Enjolras tries to pull away, but Grantaire keeps a tight grip on him, grinning widely, and Enjolras smiles, only a little reluctantly. “Come on,” Grantaire says. “Stay and dance with me.”

Less than a second later, pretty much everyone is yelling the lyrics. Even Enjolras joins in at, “Gotta kiss myself I’m so pretty,” and, honestly, Grantaire could understand if Enjolras felt that way about himself.

The blond boy has a wide grin on his face now and he’s actually dancing, in the crowd of students, and Grantaire _really likes this guy_.

And okay, maybe it hurts a little that they’re here as friends, but Enjolras is spending time with him, dancing with him, and that’s wonderful. Grantaire’s running on a high, and when Enjolras decides that they’ve done enough dancing, he doesn’t even think to protest, far too happy to just follow Enjolras over to Courfeyrac and Marius.

Grantaire momentarily wonders where Cosette is for a moment, but then he spots her dancing with Musichetta, Éponine, and Floréal, all limbs and big smiles and hair flying everywhere, and he smiles.

He sees Feuilly waltzing Bahorel around the room, ignoring the pop songs playing, and he laughs loudly as they merge it into a quick-step. Enjolras looks at Grantaire and then follows his gaze, his own face switching into a bigger grin as he sees them, too.

Reaching Courfeyrac and Marius, they hear Marius say, “[You’ve still got me, right?]” and Courfeyrac reply, “[Apparently I’m not getting rid of you,]” and then they hug tightly, making Enjolras look worried, and Grantaire unsure of whether he’s supposed to ask someone to translate or not. He decides not to and instead catches Courfeyrac’s eye and asks him if everything’s alright by silently raising his eyebrows. Courfeyrac nods in return with a clearly forced smile.

Enjolras, still looking very concerned, then grabs Courfeyrac’s arm, audibly asking him what’s wrong as he pulls him away from Marius and Grantaire. Grantaire looks after them, not really sure what to do with himself.

Marius says, quickly, “Courfeyrac’s not feeling too good.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says, “yeah. I know. We were talking about it, um, earlier.”

“Oh,” Marius says, and then, “They broke up,” and after that he doesn’t seem to know what to say next. Neither does Grantaire, for that matter, just feeling awfully sad for his friends.

Luckily for both of them, Floréal comes running up to Grantaire, her hair wild and her eyes shining, and she says something in French excitably, which Marius quickly translates as, “You haven’t danced with your best girl yet.”

Grantaire grins in response and takes her hand, letting her pull him over to where almost all of his friends have converged into a ridiculous jumping mass that is most definitely going to result in at least one bloody nose. (Probably Bossuet’s.)

His heart is beating fast and he’s never felt so alive and happy in his life.

Courfeyrac and Enjolras and Marius join them not long later and then Grantaire is surrounded by all his best friends, and Enjolras keeps smiling at him – looking so beautiful – and it’s perfect.

As the night goes on, the party gets quieter, and most people start pulling chairs into circles or just sitting on the floors to talk – the people in heels kick them off, and the people wearing ties or bowties leave them hanging loose around their necks or stuffed into their pockets.

Cosette and Marius are a bundle of limbs, really, and Marius is fast asleep in her arms. Éponine’s sitting directly across from Montparnasse, and Grantaire is positive that she only keeps leaning forwards so that he can see her cleavage – he hasn’t taken his eyes off her. Floréal and Combeferre are exchanging dopey smiles and their hands keep brushing, but not taking hold. Courfeyrac’s sitting next to Jehan, who’s sleeping in Bahorel’s arms, and he looks like he doesn’t really know what to do with himself. Feuilly keeps giggling at the story that Joly and Bossuet are telling. Musichetta’s massaging her feet while occasionally interrupting her boyfriends’ story to keep them honest.

Grantaire ends up sitting next to Enjolras on the floor and, somehow in his tired happiness, ends up leaning into the boy, with Enjolras’ arm around his shoulders. Enjolras grins down at him, and Grantaire is helpless to stop his heart from beating just a little faster, and his smile from growing just a little fonder.

His phone’s vibrating in his pocket and he ignores it at first, knowing it can only be someone who will ruin his high since all his friends are here. However, when they’re persistent, and because he knows that ignoring them will be worse, he excuses himself – saying that he’s just going to the bathroom – and slips off to the common room.

Pulling it out of his pocket he sees four missed calls from his mother and as he stares, she starts calling again. Preparing for the worst, he answers the phone. He doesn’t even get to say hi.

“Where have you been? Five calls, Grantaire. I expect not to be kept waiting.”

He sighs. “It’s the Christmas party, Mom, I was dancing with my friends.”

“Right. Well, I’m calling to tell you that we’ve booked your flight home,” she says, and Grantaire’s blood runs cold.

“H-Home?” he asks, his voice shaky and not at all the way he wants.

“It’s almost Christmas, Grantaire,” his mom says, her voice condescending, as if she’s talking to a child.

“I-” Grantaire hesitates. Then takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to come home for Christmas.”

He waits for the repercussions. To his surprise, she doesn’t yell. She does continue to treat him like he’s three, however, and somehow – _somehow_ – that’s worse.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Grantaire,” she scoffs. “Christmas is for family.”

Grantaire steels his nerves. “I _am_ with my family.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Grantaire can almost _hear_ her anger crackling. “You are coming home,” she says, her voice steady, even, and perfectly furious. There’s no room for arguing when she sounds like this. Grantaire swallows.

“I am _not_ coming to see you. This is my home,” he tells her. He’s terrified. He’s shaking. He’s standing up to her.

There is a long silence. “Grantaire. You are coming home for Christmas whether you like it or not. If I have to send someone to drag you home, God help me, I will, do you hear me?” Then, when he doesn’t reply, “ _Do you hear me_ , Grantaire?”

He crumbles. “I hear you, Mom,” he whispers.

“Good,” she says, curtly. “Your flight is Monday evening. I will send a chauffeur to drive you and make sure you get on the plane.”

He nods weakly, and then clears his throat. “Alright, Mom.”

“I will see you on Tuesday, then,” she says, and then there’s nothing but silence.

Grantaire drops his phone, every happy feeling that had been coursing through him gone, faster than could be believed. He sinks onto a sofa, staring blankly at the floor.

He curls up against a pillow on the sofa and cries.

It doesn’t surprise him that it doesn’t take long for someone to come looking for him, but it _does_ surprise him that it’s Enjolras who appears, looking concerned. That concern quickly melts into something that vaguely resembles heartbreak, and Grantaire only gets to look at that expression for a moment, before Enjolras is gathering him up into his arms and holding him tightly on the sofa.

“What happened?” he asks, in a low voice, carefully wiping the tears from under Grantaire’s eyes away, while Grantaire determinedly doesn’t meet his eyes.

Grantaire hiccoughs. “M-My Mom called,” he mumbles, and Enjolras sighs. “She’s making me come home for Christmas.”

Enjolras is silent for a long time, and Grantaire’s words hang in the air. Just as Grantaire starts to shake again, and the tears start threatening to fall again, Enjolras says, “Don’t go.”

Grantaire shrugs. “Not like I have a choice,” he says.

Enjolras sighs again, and squeezes Grantaire a little tighter. “I’m sorry,” he says, quietly.

“Don’t be,” Grantaire says. “It’s not your fault.”

Enjolras nods, and Grantaire tucks himself into Enjolras’ chest. “I’m aware of that,” Enjolras says, from above him. “I’m still sorry, though. I wish you could stay.”

“Me too,” Grantaire replies, and then he yawns, tiredly. Enjolras catches the yawn, making Grantaire giggle, weakly.

Enjolras shifts them so that they’re lying down more, wrapping his arms around Grantaire closer. Grantaire can’t find it in him to protest, or point out how this would look – how this feels. He smiles slightly, but the weight of having to go him hangs over him and his body starts to shake again as he feels a sob building up in his throat.

“Hey,” Enjolras says, softly. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” He makes quiet shushing noises, holding Grantaire tightly. “I’ve got you. It’s going to be alright.”

Grantaire manages a nod, but he doesn’t manage to hold off the tears. “I’m sorry for ruining the party,” he says, his voice thick.

“You didn’t,” Enjolras assures him. “I had a great time, and now I’m with you. It’s all good.”

Grantaire squeezes his eyes shut tight and lets himself pretend that this is a different life where he could turn around and kiss Enjolras for saying something like that.

“I’m here,” Enjolras whispers, “It’s going to be okay,” and Grantaire sucks in a deep breath.

He breathes out, and Enjolras’ arms are around him. He breathes out, and in this moment, everything’s okay.

(When the others get back to the common room, they all fall silent at the sight of the two boys curled up on the sofa, fast asleep. None of them talk about it, and in the morning, when everyone wakes, it isn’t mentioned then either.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this should have been a happy chapter but i’m me so
> 
> I dont think I left it too sad though
> 
> http://nerds-are-cool.tumblr.com/post/111600783801/mintykat-sakura-branches-organza-dress-comes-in - floréal’s dress but like you can ignore this and picture it some other way if you want I just really like this dress
> 
> like 60% of comments on this fic are just “enjolras is such a nerd/loser/dork” etc and I love it
> 
> shh the brobecks Christmas Drag tho for this chapter:  
> Christmas is a drag sometimes  
> Please say next year that you will be mine  
> And all you've got to do  
> Is say that I love you  
> And Christmas this next year will be fine
> 
> also I’m super sorry for hurting courfeyrac it’s just something me and jess decided on and yes trust me pls


	20. Winter Blues

“Here,” Jehan says, pulling a scrap of paper out of his absurdly-skinny jeans' pocket and handing it to Grantaire. Looking down at it, Grantaire sees a number of Skype names scrawled onto the paper. “If you need anyone, at least one of us will answer. I promise.”

Grantaire nods, stuffing the scrap of paper into his pocket. Jehan gives him a sad sort of look and pulls him into a hug. There aren’t many people still at the school, since most left yesterday, but those of Grantaire’s friends who are around are there to wave him off.

Joly’s holding Grantaire’s bag, ready to help him carry it to the car, when he finally works up the courage to leave.

Grantaire’s eyes find Enjolras, who gives him a smile. Grantaire determinedly doesn’t think about what he’s doing as he steps towards Enjolras and wraps his arms around his waist. Enjolras hugs back, letting Grantaire bury his face into his chest.

“You’re going to miss your plane,” Enjolras says, quietly, but he’s not letting go.

“Not such a bad idea,” Grantaire mumbles.

Enjolras gives a soft laugh. “It’s only a couple of weeks, R. You knew you’d have to see them at some point.”

“Two weeks too many,” Grantaire says with a sigh. “They’re going to ruin my Christmas spirit.”

Enjolras gives him a squeeze and then lets him go. “I’ll see you in two weeks, R,” he says, reassuringly.

Grantaire nods. Then he pulls his shoulder bag a little higher on his shoulder and walks out the door. Joly walks beside him, carrying his other bag, and he gives him a hug after he puts it in the boot of the cab.

“Have a good Christmas,” Grantaire says.

“Will do,” Joly says. “You… Well.”

Grantaire manages a small smile. “It’s only two weeks,” he says, “right?”

*

The plane is mostly quiet for the journey, with most of the passengers either sleeping or watching movies on the small screens in front of them. Grantaire sticks his headphones in and listens to music till his phone dies.

He then decides to at least try and get some sleep, tugging up the thin orange blanket that was provided and curling into the side of the plane, looking out the window at the vast dark night. He’s dreading the moment the plane lands, but there’s not much he can do about it:  the plane continues to fly; the plane will land.

*

He wakes up to the sound of a child somewhere screaming bloody murder. Grantaire groans and rubs at his eyes tiredly before glancing at the clock on his personal screen. Oh joy. Only two more hours till they land.

There’s an airhostess making her way down the aisle, pushing her little trolley.

When she reaches him she offers him a hot towel, which he declines, but he accepts a glass of water, wishing he was older so he could have something stronger.

His parents don’t greet him at the airport. Honestly, he didn’t really expect them too, but it would have been nice. He catches a taxi from the airport.

Walking into Grantaire’s parents’ house is a surreal experience. You’d never know they had a seventeen year old son. There are no pictures, no artwork, and no certificates of success. (Once, Grantaire hung up a letter of expulsion in a frame on the wall. His parents didn’t find it anywhere near as funny as he did. Claquesous found it funny. That mattered at the time.)

He calls out a hello to his parents, questioningly, not even sure they’re in the house.

Eventually he finds his mom in her office. She doesn’t even look away from her computer screen as she tells him what time his dad will be home, and when the rest of the family will be arriving.

“Yeah,” Grantaire mutters to himself, heading up the stairs to his bedroom. “It’s good to be back.”

Grantaire spent the first few days back in America in mostly silence and a self-imposed seclusion. He answered his parents’ questions in as few words as possible, put up with their disapproval of the moments in which he accidentally started to reply in French ( _what did they expect when they sent him to France?_ ), and then got out of their way. (He doesn’t know why they wanted him here in the first place.)

He kept himself indoors – the threat of running into Claquesous was incentive enough. He’s not scared of his ex, but he’s not sure what either of them would do if they came face-to-face. It’s best they stay apart.

But then he needs to get out. The tense environment of his parents’ house in the lead up to the holidays gets to be too much, and he leaves. Gets in his car and drives for a bit.

When he’s reached the park where he used to hang out with Claquesous and all his other friends he pulls up and parks. Because of all the snow, it’s mostly empty, and Grantaire pulls on his jacket and gets out for a little walk to clear his head. He lights a cigarette as he walks, putting it to his lips and taking a drag.

“Taire?”a voice asks, and Grantaire freezes.

The old nickname jolts through him like ice in his veins. He turns, slowly, and when his eyes land on Claquesous, he loses all the breath in his lungs, the smoke expelled from him. He swallows. “Hi, Claquesous.”

“Long time no see,” Claquesous says, and he’s smiling at Grantaire like it’s Christmas fucking morning. “Where’ve you been? I’ve not seen you in months.”

Claquesous looks… Well, there’s no other way to say it. He looks good. Grantaire’s eyes trail down his ex-boyfriend’s face and he looks _healthy_. The bags under his eyes are no longer dark and bruise-like. His skin is tanned.

Grantaire pulls a face. “Well, we did break up…” Claquesous visibly flinches. Grantaire coughs and scratches at the back of his head. “Yeah, I’ve been in France. Boarding school.”

“Shit,” Claquesous says, looking sympathetic.

Grantaire shrugs. “It’s not so bad.” He can’t exactly help the smile that tries to break out on his face at the thought of his friends.

It must be fairly obvious because Claquesous says, “Oh. I see. Who’s the lucky person, then?”

Grantaire shakes his head. “It’s not like that. I mean, there’s someone, but not _someone_ , y’know?”

He’s not sure why he’s telling Claquesous all this – except that, once upon a time, they were friends. Of a sort, at least.

Claquesous smiles a smile that doesn’t look completely real.

“How’ve you been?” Grantaire asks, then, out of sheer awkwardness. “I mean, you look pretty healthy.”

Claquesous gives him a sardonic look. “You mean I look like I haven’t been sitting at home and doing smack.”

Grantaire chuckles. “Right. That.”

Claquesous bites his lip and shifts uncomfortably. “Well, when Babet and I overdosed, and then you- I mean. I realised I was too dangerous to the people around me. I realised I was gonna die, one day.” He shrugs. “I was never much of a user anyway. Probably how I ended up overdosing that badly. Y’know, no tolerance, and all that.”

That’s fair enough. Despite dealing pretty much the A-Z of drugs, Claquesous intoxicant of choice had pretty much always been weed. As far as Grantaire knows, he only took heroin twice – the second being the time he almost died.

Grantaire nods. “Right. Well. I’m glad you’re… doing better?”

Claquesous smiles. “You could say that.” He rubs his hand against the side of his thigh and seems a little unsure about something. “I was wondering…” He trails off, and Grantaire tilts his head to the side.

“Yeah?”

“Well, I mean, you’re back,” Claquesous says, “and I’m... I’m okay, and you don’t- You don’t have anyone, right? So…”

Grantaire blinks in surprise. “No,” he says slowly. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Claquesous actually looks a little downhearted, so Grantaire frowns and says, “Do you remember how you broke up with me?”

Claquesous suddenly looks pretty shame-faced. “It was for your own good,” he says, and Grantaire pauses.

“What the _fuck_?” he asks. “How- How did you even- What the _fuck_ , Claquesous?”

Claquesous takes a step forwards, which in turn makes Grantaire take a step backwards.

“It was for your own good, Grantaire,” Claquesous says. “I would have ruined you.”

“ _Would have_?” Grantaire repeats, incredulously. “As in: conditional tense? As if you didn’t? Oh my God, you have _no idea,_ do you?” He lets out a bitter laugh. “Fuck you,” he says. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”

Then he’s walking away, tossing his barely-smoked cigarette to the ground. He hears Claquesous calling after him, but he doesn’t stop, and he doesn’t listen to what he has to say.

-

Grantaire loads up Skype and then scans his eyes over his list of contacts. He doesn’t know who to call.

He’s not in the mood to be translating a half-English, half-French conversation, so Floréal’s not really an option. Joly and Bossuet are no doubt having an amazing week together, and he doesn’t want to ruin that. Jehan’s at Bahorel’s, and they’ve got enough to sort out between them now that they’ve broken up with Courfeyrac without Grantaire adding his problems. Everyone’s too busy for him.

He sighs and leans back against his headboard, refusing to admit to himself that he’s pouting.

Then he remembers that not everyone’s going home for Christmas, and he’s clicking on Enjolras’ account before he can think it through. Silently he prays that Enjolras is there.

When Enjolras face shows up on the screen, he looks tired and half-asleep. Grantaire looks at the time, and he starts in shock as he suddenly remembers that time difference exists. “Holy shit, I’m so sorry,” he says. “Did I wake you up? I shouldn’t have called. I’ll go now. You go back to sleep. I’m sorry.”

He’s about to disconnect the call when Enjolras says, “Calm down, R.” He’s smiling, though the picture is pixilated, and Grantaire feels himself calming down immediately.

“Hey,” Grantaire says.

“Hi,” Enjolras says back.

“How’s France?” Grantaire manages to ask.

Enjolras smiles at that, and the picture freezes for a moment, but the audio continues, so that Grantaire hears him say, “France is good. How’s America?” As he says the ‘ca’ in ‘America’, the picture starts moving again, and he has a wry smile on his face.

“America’s not so good,” Grantaire replies. He watches Enjolras rub at his eyes and stifle a yawn, feeling guilty for keeping Enjolras up. “Look, dude, it’s nice of you, but you don’t need to stay up and-”

“Grantaire, give over,” Enjolras says. “I want to, okay?”

That makes Grantaire’s heart rate kick up a notch. “Oh,” he says. “Okay.”

“Why’s America not so good?” Enjolras asks, and Grantaire knows that he doesn’t mean America.

Grantaire sighs and a frown tugs at the corners of Enjolras’ mouth. “I- Uh. I bumped into Claquesous today.”

“Oh,” Enjolras says.

“Yeah,” Grantaire says. “It just- It was fine. He was fine. He looked… good. He looked good.” Grantaire groans and rubs at the back of his neck.

Enjolras looks a little concerned and a lot… _something_. Why can Grantaire never read this boy?

“I- Um. When I get back, can I tell you about Claquesous?” Grantaire asks, not really sure why it feels that important. The thought of having that conversation terrifies him, but it really does feel like something he has to do.

“Of course,” Enjolras says. He opens his mouth, like he’s going to say something else, but then he closes it, as if he changed his mind.

They just look at each other for a long moment. Enjolras bites his lips, and Grantaire glances away. The sound of Enjolras’ voice makes him look back.

“Why did you call me, Grantaire?” he asks.

Grantaire considers his answer, for a moment. He could explain that he went through the list, that he knew that everyone else would be with someone else, but that would be a lie, really. Yes, he did think through who he could call, but deep down, he knows that he was searching for excuses to call Enjolras, even then. He settles on, “I just missed you, I guess,” knowing it’s the closest thing to the truth.

A ghost of a smile flits across Enjolras face, one that gets muffled by a yawn. The picture freezes on Enjolras’ face as he yawns, and he looks truly ridiculous. It makes Grantaire giggle, slightly. Enjolras gives him a weird look as the picture catches up to his movement, clearly having heard Grantaire’s laugh.

“The picture froze,” Grantaire half-explains, and Enjolras grins.

“I miss you, too, by the way,” Enjolras says, and if that doesn’t reduce Grantaire’s heart to a little puddle in his chest then nothing will.

“God, you must be tired,” Grantaire teases.

Enjolras rolls his eyes and once again, the picture freezes. He looks like he’s mid-sneeze and Grantaire snorts in his laughter. He then immediately claps a hand over his mouth and nose in his embarrassment.

The picture loads again, and Enjolras looks _delighted_. “Did you just _snort_?” he asks, seemingly thrilled.

Grantaire makes a dying sound and says, “ _Yes_ , oh my God.”

Enjolras bursts out laughing. “That was beautiful,” he says. “Laughter-snorts are the best thing to happen to humanity.”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “Really? The _best thing_ to happen to humanity?”

Enjolras laughs. “Oh, come on, it’s-” he glances away “-like three am, give me a break.”

Grantaire laughs initially, and then what Enjolras said really hits him. “It’s _three am_? Oh my God, go to sleep, Enjolras. I’ll be okay here in America.”

Enjolras looks torn. “Okay,” he says, at last. “Night, R.”

The nickname that Enjolras gave him means so much more in the dark evening, after the day’s events. Grantaire smiles. “Night, Enjolras.”

They continue to smile at each other for a moment, and then Enjolras disconnects the call, and Grantaire flops back against his headboard with a grin across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M SO SORRY FOR HOW LONG THIS TOOK I have a load of excuses but u probably don’t care to hear them so I’m just going to apologise again and then I’m going to promise that i’ll do my best to stop it from happening again and then we’re going to move on:
> 
> SORRY IT PROBABLY WON’T HAPPEN AGAIN
> 
> Tah daahhh
> 
> Also this like wasn’t all I’ve got written for this chapter but the bit that was giving me a really hard time and super delaying the chapter is in the next part and still will be but like just it’ll come hopefully next week
> 
> I don’t really know exactly how many of you are reading this, but from the amount of kudos (thank you very much, btw) there’s a good few hundred of you (wow scary) and I sorta feel like Valjean in ‘suddenly’ when he sings “trusting me the way you do I’m so afraid of failing you” 
> 
> also I keep forgetting to say look here nerds-are-cool.tumblr.com/tagged/fluent-in-you it has two gorgeous things that my friend jess made for this fic of enjolras and grantaire and also has a short drabble that I wrote from enjolras’ POV if you wanna 
> 
> also i totally realised that i didn't write about halloween and what a fucking waste that was oh well 
> 
> if you made it this far in the notes tell me what your fave word is in a comment (that's both a cheesy plea for comments and also me wondering what kind of whacked up words you all know :D)


	21. Where I Belong

The next day, when Grantaire’s messing around on the piano, supposedly doing his ‘music homework’, he starts playing a tune that he knows he knows from _somewhere_ , and when he recognises the song he considers smashing his head against the keys.

He carries on, regardless, remembering learning the song for his cousin’s wedding. Back when his parents encouraged his musical abilities and he really did try hard to impress them.

The words come back to him, naturally, as though it hasn’t been years since he last heard the song, let alone played it.

_Something in your eyes, makes me wanna lose myself,_

_Makes me wanna lose myself, in your arms._

He smiles down at the keys despite himself.

_There’s something in your voice, makes my heart beat fast,_

_Hope this feeling lasts, the rest of my life._

The memory of Enjolras’ face last night on the pixilated screen, grinning at him and refusing to go to sleep, just because he knew that Grantaire wouldn’t have called if there wasn’t something wrong, fills Grantaire with happiness.

_If you knew how lonely my life has been,_

_And how long I’ve been so alone,_

The song is ridiculously cheesy, but that’s who he is when Enjolras walks into the picture. Something about that beautiful, outspoken boy turns Grantaire into a smiling and affectionate blob.

_And if you knew how I wanted someone to come along,_

_And change my life the way you’ve done._

The smile on his face as he thinks about Enjolras simply refuses to leave, and he’s pretty much openly grinning as he launches into the chorus – half because he’s very aware of his own ridiculousness, and half because he keeps thinking about Enjolras smiling at him and saying he _wants_ to stay up and talk to him.

_It feels like home to me,_

_It feels like home to me,_

_It feels like I’m all the way back where I belong._

From somewhere in the house, at that moment, his mom yells – more screams – his name, making him jump. He looks away from the piano, the smile readily slipping from his face.

Carefully, he lowers the lid of the piano and tucks the stool back underneath.

The next few hours compromise of cleaning and decorating, ready for the Christmas meal with the rest of the intolerable family tomorrow. Grantaire grits his teeth and gets on with it, because the sooner he gets it done, the sooner he can get back to either his room or the piano.

-

Later that day, when he turns on his laptop, Enjolras calls him on Skype almost immediately. Grantaire grins and answers.

“Well, hello,” he says, as a greeting.

“It’s snowing,” Enjolras says, immediately, full of breathless delight. Grantaire laughs.

“You think you’ve got snow?” he asks, and gets to his feet taking his laptop across to the window to show Enjolras the piles of snow outside.

He hears Enjolras’ laugh, and then the boy says, “Okay. You win, R.”

Grantaire turns the laptop back to face him with a smug grin. The smugness turns into a soft smile at the sight of Enjolras smiling at him. “Happy Christmas Eve, Enjolras,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras beams. “Happy Christmas Eve, Grantaire.”

“What time is it there?” Grantaire asks as he goes back to flop on his bed, angling the laptop screen so that Enjolras is no longer looking at his chest and chin.

Enjolras glances at what must be a clock to his left and says, “About nine pm, you?”

“Hmm, three-ish,” Grantaire says, tiredly. “Mom’s got me helping get ready for the gang to show up tomorrow.”

“Sounds like fun,” Enjolras deadpans.

“It won’t be,” Grantaire sighs. “I mean, honestly, the worst part is that I’ll just have to sit in silence for a number of hours. You know how bad I am at being quiet.”

Enjolras laughs. “Well, call me afterwards if you need someone to vent at,” he suggests.

Grantaire grins. “See, you’re offering now, but when I call you at gone midnight your time…”

“I’ll still be happy to hear from you,” Enjolras fills in, smiling and making Grantaire blush – but only a little. (At least, that’s what he tells himself.)

“I probably don’t have that long. I think my cousin and her wife are arriving soon.” He groans. “I’m going to have to fend off a thousand questions about my love life come tomorrow.”

Enjolras laughs, the sound bursting out of Grantaire’s crappy speakers. Grantaire smiles.

“How’s everyone at school? Who’s still there?”

“Oh, it’s just Cosette and me,” Enjolras says. “Everyone else found somewhere to go.”

Grantaire frowns. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Don’t be,” Enjolras says, smiling. “I’m with my family – albeit adoptive family – and I can talk to you still. Everything’s fine.”

Grantaire grins. “I’m starting to understand why you’re so keen on Skyping me. All alone up in your castle.”

The doorbell rings downstairs and Grantaire groans. “That’s my cue,” he says to Enjolras.

Enjolras pulls a face. “Alright. Have fun, try not to slam your head against walls because of shitty relatives, and Skype me later. Or tomorrow.”

Grinning, Grantaire says, “Tomorrow. Try and get some sleep at some point tonight, Enjolras.”

“It’s only nine, R,” Enjolras says, exasperated.

“Yes, and knowing you it’ll soon be three,” Grantaire replies with a laugh.

Enjolras grins.

There’s a knock at Grantaire’s door and he looks away from the screen, smile slipping a little. “Who is it?” he calls.

Someone up above must secretly be working in his favour, however, because the person who sticks her head in through his bedroom door is possibly the only member of his family that he can genuinely and honestly say he likes.

“Jess!” he exclaims happily, as she bursts into his room and springs onto his bed, landing awkwardly but with a grin.

“Hey there, kiddo,” she says. Then she catches sight of Enjolras, who’s looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Oooh!” she says, with a laugh. “Who’s this handsome fellow?”

Grantaire determinedly doesn’t blush – not something that’s easy to control – as he smiles and says, “This is Enjolras.”

Jess blinks at him. “Come again?”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire repeats, somewhat unsurely.

Jess glances between Enjolras and Grantaire, before saying, “Are you sure he didn’t sneeze when he introduced himself, and now you just make similar noises instead of saying his name?”

Grantaire rolls his eyes, and on the screen Enjolras is smiling somewhat wryly. “Let the French bastard say it, I promise it sounds good, really,” Grantaire tells her, looking at Enjolras expectantly.

Obediently, Enjolras says his name.

Jess’ eyes widen. “How old are you?” she asks, maybe a little breathlessly. Grantaire can really empathise with that.

“Seventeen,” he replies.

“Damn,” she says, with feeling. “Just a little too young for me.”

Grantaire laughs and nudges her with his shoulder. “You’re twenty-three and married,” he reminds her.

She pulls a face. “True.” She then grins, wickedly. “Guess he’s all yours, then,” he says to him.

This time, Grantaire really does blush.

“N- No, he’s not- He’s not _mine_ -” Grantaire stammers, as Enjolras says, dramatically, “Ah, too many hearts would be broken if either of us dated, let alone both of us.”

Jess raises an eyebrow. Grantaire stares at Enjolras in disbelief. Enjolras snorts.

“Oh, my god,” Grantaire says, as his body starts to shake with laughter. “When did you swap bodies with Courf?”

He notices Jess mouth ‘Courf’ with a stupefied expression on her face, but all he’s looking at is Enjolras grinning at him. Enjolras shrugs. “It’s true,” he teases, and Grantaire shakes his head laughing.

“In your case, maybe,” Grantaire allows.

Enjolras rolls his eyes. Then starts. “Oh! Hey, I forgot to say-”

“That rhymed,” Grantaire comments, automatically, and Enjolras rolls his eyes again before continuing.

“Most of our friends are coming back to school early for New Years,” he tells Grantaire. “Courf and Marius and Floréal will be back tomorrow. They said something about how Cosette and I should get a good Christmas, too. Do you think you’d be able to?”

Grantaire purses his lips, thinking. “Unlikely. I can talk to my mom about it, but I can’t really see her going for it. Depends how much they want to get rid of me, compared to how much they want to make good impressions on the neighbours over being a happy family.”

Enjolras tries not to laugh, clearly, but doesn’t manage. Grinning, he says, “Try anyway. Everyone will want you back.”

“Maybe I’ll just run away,” Grantaire says, with a shrug.

As Enjolras opens his mouth to reply, Grantaire’s mom starts yelling up the stairs for them to get down there. Grantaire and Jess groan at the same time.

“Come on,” Jess says, getting to her feet. “Rhiannon wants to see you, anyway,” she tells him of her wife.

“‘Kay,” Grantaire says, looking up at her and then back at Enjolras. “Guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Enjolras promises, with a smile, and then disconnects the call. Grantaire stares at the name and the profile picture on the screen, combined with the words CALL ENDED and the time that they talked for.

“Well,” Jess says, and leaves it at that.

“Don’t,” Grantaire replies. She laughs, prettily, and holds out her hand to help him to his feet. “I like your hair, by the way,” he then says, looking properly at the new aqua-blue bob cut for the first time.

“Thanks,” she says, happily. “Your mom doesn’t.”

Grantaire grins. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Wait till you see Rhi’s hair – your mom hates that more,” she says, eyes sparkling.

Grantaire openly laughs this time as they make their way to the door. “Try not to be too gay at dinner,” he tells her.

“What about you, you big queer?” she teases back.

He just rolls his eyes at her.

-

Early the next morning, around eight am Grantaire’s time, he gets a call on Skype. The loud noise from his laptop wakes him and Grantaire groans, rolling over to answer the call, knowing that it can only be a France-Friend.

True to form, it’s Enjolras.

“Hey,” Grantaire says, struggling to sit up and rub the sleep out of his eyes. Enjolras looks… a mess, quite frankly. Nowhere near as happy as he should be on Christmas day. “What’s up?”

“I just visited my dad, and- I just need to think about something else for a while,” Enjolras says. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Your real dad?” Grantaire asks, unable to stop himself. “I didn’t know he was still around.”

“Technically, he’s not,” Enjolras says, looking thoroughly disheartened.

“Oh,” Grantaire says.

“Look, I really don’t want to talk about it, let’s leave it at the fact that you’re not the only one whose family life isn’t at the top of it’s game,” Enjolras says, quite sharply, and Grantaire feels suddenly contrite.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire says, softly.

Enjolras sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose. “No, I am. It’s Christmas and I’m being horrible.”

Grantaire smiles a little. “Well, what’s changed?” he teases. Enjolras rolls his eyes, but there’s a small smile edging at his mouth, so Grantaire knows he said the right thing. “Happy Christmas, Enjolras.”

“Happy Christmas, Grantaire,” Enjolras replies with a smile.

They talk for over an hour, before Jess comes bounding into his room, planning to jump on him and wake him up, surprised to find him already awake.

Grantaire grins at her, says his goodbye to Enjolras, and then heads downstairs to help Jess and Rhiannon make breakfast.

-

Christmas dinner is… difficult.

It’s no longer just Grantaire, his parents, his beloved cousin and her wife. Now, the whole family is here. Dutifully, Grantaire sits beside his mother and keeps his mouth shut for the most part. He bristles at the hints of racism that just sometimes slip into conversation – but at a look from his father, he doesn’t comment.

Every now and then he catches Jess’ eye and she looks bored to tears too. At least she’s got Rhiannon – with her bubble-gum pink hair that clearly personally offends half the family – to keep her distracted.

After dinner, the family migrates into the parlour for drinks and Rhiannon approaches him. “Hey,” she says. “I think I’ve got a way to get you home for New Year.”

Grantaire blinks in surprise. “Wait- Really?”

She grins. “Yeah, totally. Look, J and I have the money and we can totally get you out the house. We’ll be out by tomorrow, if you want. I’ve already looked up plane times; you can be there by the day after tomorrow.”

Grantaire’s whole world looks brighter. He could be back with Enjolras by Saturday. “Holy shit. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” she tells him, ruffling his hair.

She turns to walk away, over to where Jess is watching them mid-conversation with Grantaire’s uncle and her dad. He catches her arm. “You said ‘home’.”

She looks at him. “This place has never been your home.”

“I know,” he says. Then, “Thank you,” again.

“Just pack your shit,” she says, and he lets her go. Jess grins at him from the other side of the room, and he grins back.

-

Giving and receiving presents is awkward; more a formality, than an act of family. Grantaire generally receives money off his relatives – because he doesn’t really count them as ‘family’ – but Jess and Rhiannon give him a new sketchbook too, with a note on the inside telling him to never give up on something he wants, along with a pack of spare guitar strings (which remind him that he mustn’t forget his guitar this time he goes back to France).

He gives Jess a new set of earrings and a Françoiz Breut CD – a French singer-songwriter that Éponine got him into. To Rhiannon, he gives a book of photos of Sara Fabel, making her laugh and thank him profusely – having always had a crush on the woman – and a drawing of her and Jess on their wedding day.

Jess and Rhiannon are staying in his house, still, but no one else is. They all leave around nine – a respectable time – and Grantaire heads upstairs with Jess and Rhiannon, having played his role.

Jess and Rhiannon have drunk more than what is acceptable in their situation, while Grantaire drank nothing under the watchful eye of his mother and father.

All three of them head into Grantaire’s room so that he can pack and Rhiannon can check flights and bookings. “You’ll be flying economy,” she warns him.

“Pity,” he replies, rolling his eyes. “It’ll be torture. How can I be around such peasants for such a long flight?”

Rhiannon laughs and Jess lounges back on his bed with a grin on her face. “Rich but unorganised people problems,” Jess agrees.

Grantaire laughs, grabbing his shirts out of his closet and piling them up beside his suitcase to fold and pack them.

-

At the gate, he hugs Jess tightly. “Thank you so much for this, guys. This means a lot.”

“You’re welcome, kiddo,” Jess replies planting a kiss on the top of his head. “Now go get your butt back to France and your boyfriend.”

“Not my boyfriend,” Grantaire says as he turns to hug Rhiannon too.

Jess makes a disbelieving noise. “That kid’s head over heels for you. Believe me; I know what someone pining looks like.” She glances at Rhiannon, who sticks her tongue out in retaliation.

Grantaire smiles. “Thanks, but I’m okay just being his friend.”

“No you’re not,” Rhiannon says. “Now _go_. You’re going to miss your flight.”

“You guys are the best,” Grantaire says, before shouldering his bag. “See you in the summer, I guess.”

“See you,” Jess says. She gives him one last kiss on the cheek before shoving him towards the terminal.

He gives them one last wave before he disappears from view.

-

This time, he enjoys the flight. It’s still too long, and a baby cries annoyingly loudly, and there’s one person who gets a little too drunk, but he’s going _home_. All in all, it’s not going to be that long before he’s back with his friends.

He can’t wait to see them.

-

Gravel crunches under the wheels of the cab as it rolls up the driveway of his school. He’s helpless to stop the feeling of happiness bubbling up through him.

The driver helps him unload his things, though he doesn’t have that much, and Grantaire strings his guitar over his back, grabbing his bags with his free hands.

He stands staring up at the big, stone building for a moment, and he smiles.

Just as he takes a step towards the doors, and as the taxi drives off back the way it came, Enjolras comes sprinting out onto the front, and Grantaire stops dead. They stare at each other for a long moment, and then, unanimously, their faces split into grins. “Enjolras!” Grantaire yells, dropping his bags.

“Grantaire!” Enjolras cries, and then he’s springing down the front steps, running full-pelt towards Grantaire, and Grantaire’s running too.

Reaching each other, Enjolras practically jumps into Grantaire’s arms, as Grantaire laughs and spins him round. Setting him down on his feet, Grantaire grins. “Happy Christmas,” he says.

“I can’t believe you’re back!” Enjolras replies, instead. “You didn’t say anything!”

“It was very last minute,” Grantaire says, smiling up at him. “Jess and Rhi got me tickets.”

“Your cousin?” Enjolras asks, moving in the direction of where Grantaire dropped his bags to go and pick them up.

“And her wife,” Grantaire replies.

Enjolras leans down and grabs Grantaire’s bags, and they make their way inside. “I can’t believe you’re back,” Enjolras says, again. He laughs incredulously. “Floréal’s here, she’ll be happy to see you.”

“She is?” Grantaire asks, smiling. “That’s good, I’ve missed that girl. Are Courf and Marius back, too? You said they were coming back early.”

“Yeah, they’re here, I think they’re swimming with Cosette at the minute though.” Enjolras looks thoughtful as they climb the stairs to the boys’ common room. “You know, I think there’s something between those three,” he says, at last. He shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong. I’m not exactly the best at picking up on this sort of thing,” he says with a laugh.

“No, you’re not,” Grantaire agrees, grinning. “But I think you’re right about this one. At least, I hope you are.”

Enjolras smiles, pushing open the door with his shoulder and allowing Grantaire to get inside.

Grantaire breathes in as he steps into the common room. The curtains are the same, the sofas are the same, and the air smells the same. It’s wonderful.

Enjolras nudges him and says, “I think Floréal’s in the art department.”

Grantaire grins and gives Enjolras a quick hug before all but running there.

He finds Floréal sitting at one of the long tables, drawing with an intent look on her face. Grantaire smiles. “Hey, Flor,” he says.

Her head jerks up, and her expression morphs into one of absolute delight. She jumps to her feet, discarding her pencil, and she runs straight into Grantaire’s arms.

Grantaire wraps his arms around her, squeezing her tight, and manages to mumble a, “Happy Christmas.”

She pulls back and beams at him, giving him a, “[Happy Christmas],” in return.

_It feels like I’m all the way back where I belong._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no I will not apologise for how fuckin daft r singing feels like home was I have no regrets I love every single one of my artistic choices 
> 
> (ha ha ha have u noticed that e and r are totally dating but they haven’t rly figured it out yet)
> 
> also yeah I named jess after my friend jess (musichctta.tumblr.com) and I have no shame – she named jess’ wife purely because she likes the name 
> 
> (every fic needs lesbians at some point and with les amis I was left with little options but to include lesbian OCs since ep/cosette wasn’t going to fit into this story and chetta’s not leaving her boys)
> 
> do I talk about jess too often in the comments?? idc shes wonderful and like 79% of my motivation to keep this going 
> 
> oh and thank u for all your fave words they were all fantastic ahah mine is ‘decapitation’ (not for the meaning! just to clear my name of serial killer-ness I purely like it because it’s so fun to say – try it!)
> 
> just one last thing ok I’ve got my gsces around about now and I’m not going to abandon this I swear but if there’s a long gap pls “be easy” (aayyyy) on me we should be okay but the first two weeks of june aren’t going to be fun or easy on me so yeah just a heads up
> 
> if there’s any of you reading this doing ur gcses or a levels or any other srs examinations:  
> GOOD LUCK I BELIEVE IN YOU AND I’M SURE YOU’LL DO YOUR BEST!!! :D xxxxx


	22. These Thoughts Of Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay just a heads up this chapter includes mention of drug use as a coping mechanism (not actually featured just talk of past use)
> 
> I don’t know if that’s going to be a problem for anyone, but I just want to be on the safe side
> 
> On a similar note, if anyone wants anything to be pre-warned about, let me know

All the others start arriving back a few days later, and Grantaire’s thrilled to see them all. Plans are made for New Year with a few of his friends having brought alcohol and other fizzy drinks and snacks with them for the event.

When New Year’s Eve arrives they all congregate in the boys’ common room as is clearly the tradition.

Some have dressed up for the evening (Combeferre, Floréal, Éponine, Cosette, Marius, Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Jehan) while the rest went for a more casual look. Of course, those such as Musichetta and Montparnasse look incredible even in dress-down clothes.

Grantaire’s really enjoying the evening, and the contrast of where he is now, and where he was less than a week previously makes him appreciate it all the more. He’s sitting on the sofa with Bossuet and Bahorel, who are recounting last year’s New Year’s party and the courageous tale of young Laigle (Bossuet’s real name, Grantaire learns with surprise) who valiantly entered a wrestling match with Bahorel while drunk and – to everyone’s surprise – almost managed to hold his own. Grantaire’s laughing along, a can of pop held in one hand and a packet of crisps on his knee that he and his two friends are sharing.

Music’s playing loudly, and Floréal, Combeferre, and Feuilly are having some sort of dance off. Enjolras is laughing with Montparnasse and Courfeyrac. Jehan’s redoing Musichetta’s hair while Joly massages her feet, sore from her high heels.

Éponine yells, “Truth or dare!” at that moment, grabbing Cosette’s hand from where they’re standing by the drinks, and dragging her over to the others. Bahorel and Courfeyrac cheer loudly, and even Enjolras smiles, settling down onto the floor beside Combeferre to play.

Grantaire ends up sitting between Éponine and Montparnasse, who keep sneaking looks at each other when they think no one’s paying attention, and Grantaire decides that he’s really going to have to talk to them about this. However, for now he focuses on the matter at hand – getting the worst secrets and the best dares out of his friends.

“Truth or dare, Cosette?” Courfeyrac says, grinning.

She hums, thinking, and then says, “Dare,” decisively, with a wicked grin on her face.

Éponine sniggers, and Jehan makes a low _ooh_ ing sound under his breath. Courfeyrac leans in.

“Okay, Cosette Fauchelevent,” he says, “I dare you to… oh, let’s keep this basic for now, take off your underwear for the rest of the night.”

“I’m wearing a dress!” Cosette protests.

“Then don’t do any cartwheels,” Courfeyrac replies, raising an eyebrow.

“Fine,” Cosette says, getting to her feet. She steps out of her heels and then slips her hands up her dress and wriggles down a pair of black lacy panties, before then undoing her bra through her dress and slipping it out, to reveal it as a matching set.

Courfeyrac grins as she throws them at him indignantly and then sits down primly, carefully arranging her dress. If Grantaire – or any of them – had any suspicions about the nature of Courfeyrac, Cosette, and Marius’ relationship, it vanishes when Courfeyrac keeps hold of her underwear and winks, saying, “I can’t wait to see what else is under that dress,” and Marius and Cosette don’t attack him. (Cosette actually winks back.)

Grantaire sneaks a glance at Jehan and Bahorel, to see how they react to this development, but both of them are smiling. At that moment, Grantaire also spots Enjolras, who determinedly isn’t looking at Cosette right now, a little red-faced.

Grantaire giggles before his attention is drawn back to Montparnasse’s turn. He also picks dare, and Cosette – the darer – quickly mixes up a drink for him, featuring pretty much anything she can get her hands on, and then dares him to down it. He does, finishing coughing and spluttering but nevertheless victorious.

Eventually almost everyone’s had a turn.

“Truth or dare, Grantaire?” Jehan asks him, smiling.

Grantaire quickly weighs up the pros and cons, and which is likely to be worse. He ends up deciding that he can always refuse to answer, and says, “Truth.”

“What’s the worst place you’ve ever had sex?” Jehan asks him, instantly, grinning like a wolf.

Grantaire hums, thinking about it. “By ‘worst’, do you mean the most unhygienic, or the most morally wrong? Or do you mean a place that made the sex bad?”

Jehan rolls his eyes. “All three, actually, now you bring it up.”

Grantaire laughs. “Most unhygienic would probably be a public bathroom, really. Morally wrong… Grandma’s house. A place that made the sex bad would be… Somewhere outside, probably. Not sure I’ve ever had bad sex, honestly. No,” he then corrects himself, remembering. “That’s not true. Once my parents sent me to stay with family friends on a goddamn farm for the summer and I had sex with their daughter in the barn. It was gross and bad. She was hot though.”

Grantaire shrugs and takes a drink as his friends all laugh, but then Enjolras stands up abruptly and walks out without a single word.

Everyone startles as the door slams behind him, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac share a look. They stand up together, about to follow Enjolras out, when Grantaire jumps to his feet. “No!” he says. “No, let me, I’ll find out what’s wrong, it’s okay.”

Courfeyrac pulls a face, and Combeferre says, “I’m not sure-”

“I insist,” Grantaire says. “Sit back down.”

They do, and Grantaire smiles, heading for the door.

Out in the hallway, he suddenly realises he has no idea where Enjolras will have gone, so he sticks his head back in the common room. “Any ideas on where he’d go?”

Combeferre chuckles and says, “Pool or the roof.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire says, and sets off again.

He checks the roof first, because it’s closer, but Enjolras isn’t there.

He is in the pool house, however, and Grantaire smiles as he steps out onto the poolside, seeing Enjolras’ silhouette at the edge, sitting with his feet dangling in the water.

Grantaire doesn’t say a word as he moves to sit down beside Enjolras, tugging off his shoes and letting his feet hang over the edge, the base of his feet brushing the top of the water.

Enjolras glances at him and doesn’t speak either.

Knocking their shoulders together, Grantaire asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Enjolras says, sullenly.

“Nothing?” Grantaire echoes. “Try again, that wasn’t very convincing.”

Enjolras sighs and sways his feet a little, making the water splash. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says.

“Okay,” Grantaire says. He searches around for something else to talk about, because the silence might kill him. When he remembers what he promised Enjolras he’d tell him about, he feels a little nervous, but now feels right.

Grantaire takes a deep breath. “How about I tell you about Claquesous? I need you to know, or… I need to tell _someone_ , and I want it to be _you_ , first.”

Enjolras looks at him with calculating eyes, and then he nods and gives Grantaire a half-smile.

Grantaire takes that to mean that he should go ahead, and he thinks for a moment about how to start, and then he begins to speak.

“We met when I was about nine,” Grantaire says, “and he was eleven. He used to bring drugs for my mom from his parents.” He stops there, waiting for Enjolras to say something – but there’s nothing. He peeks a look at Enjolras, and Enjolras looks serious, and he’s listening intently, but there doesn’t seem to be any disgust in his expression, so Grantaire carries on.

“When I turned thirteen, he let me try weed for the first time.” Grantaire sighs. “I’ll spare you the story of my discovery that drugs take all feeling away when you get the right ones, and I’ll just say that by the time I was fourteen we were dating – which is to say he regularly got me high and we fucked.

“I thought I was in love with him, and I thought he loved me. He used to… He taught me how to dance, and he took me away from school on days where I didn’t want to go, and he made me feel _wanted_ , y’know? Special. With the family I have, that really did mean something. I didn’t know what it was like to actually have friends – or anyone – that cared about me, so I thought that _he_ did.

“He didn’t, though. He just used me for sex, drugs, and-” he huffs a laugh “-rock ‘n’ roll.” He shuts his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. “He broke up with me, without any preamble at all. Like, one day he just fucking _texts_ me to let me know that he doesn’t want to see me again. He was all I had for _so long_ and then he just dropped me, out of nowhere.

“And then I went home for Christmas, and I saw him, and he’s… he’s doing good, and he told me that he broke up with me because he was scared of _ruining_ me, like he didn’t already, and- Fuck.”

He breaks off, breathing heavily.

“Thank you for trusting me with this,” Enjolras says, softly, into the silence that follows Grantaire’s words.

“Have you ever seen _The Moulin Rouge_?” Grantaire asks, suddenly, looking up at Enjolras.

Enjolras blinks at him. “Um, no, I haven’t. Sorry.”

Grantaire smiles a little, rolling his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?” he asks. “Okay, so it’s about a woman played by Nicole Kidman – yes, yes, I know you don’t know who that is – and she sleeps with people for money, yeah? But she dreams of being an actress and being free to fall in love.”

Enjolras frowns in clear confusion. “Where’s this going?”

“I’m getting there!” Grantaire exclaims. “Patience, dear Enjolras! So at one point she sings this song, all ‘one day I’ll fly away’, y’know?”

“Ah,” Enjolras says.

“Yeah,” Grantaire agrees. “It’s all I ever wanted. Pathetic, right? Rich Kid Grantaire who hates his privileged life enough that he slept around and did drugs and dated a dealer just to piss off his parents and to Goddamn _feel_ something.” He gives a half-hearted shrug and stares out over the water as if gently ripples with their slight movement.

Enjolras is silent for a long while, and Grantaire doesn’t blame him; he wouldn’t know what to say to him either.

“My mum’s in jail for trying to kill my dad and me,” Enjolras says, simply.

Grantaire almost chokes in his surprise, looking at Enjolras in shock and disbelief. “Fuck,” he says. “Okay, maybe you win.”

Enjolras shrugs. “Maybe we’ve just both had shitty lives.”

Grantaire hums his agreement. Then, almost nervously, says, “Mine’s getting better.”

Enjolras gives him a smile at that and he says, “Mine too,” in agreement. “Has been for a while. Dad’s in a coma and Mum’s locked up, but I’ve got Valjean and Cosette, and this place, and all my friends... and now you.”

“You know, that was almost sentimental,” Grantaire teases, with a wry grin. Enjolras gives him a look, and he sobers saying, “No, in all seriousness, I feel the same way. Uh, this is the first time I haven’t wanted to escape from somewhere. It feels like home to me, here.”

“I’m glad,” Enjolras says, softly.

Something passes between them, and Grantaire leans in to rest against Enjolras as he stares out at the dark water. Enjolras’ arm curves around him, and Grantaire relaxes into the touch.

After a while, Enjolras says, quietly, “I wonder what time it is.”

Grantaire pulls his phone out of his pocket, and the lit up screen reads **00:12**. “Huh,” Grantaire says, surprised. “Happy New Year, Enjolras.”

Enjolras looks at him and smiles. “Happy New Year.”

They sit there for a long time, but when it gets too cold, Grantaire gently helps the other boy to his feet and they head back through the changing rooms to the main building, carrying their shoes in their hands.

A few others are still in the common room: Grantaire and Enjolras wish them a happy New Year, and none of them comment on Grantaire’s arm around Enjolras’ waist.

Without question, Enjolras leads the way back to his room, pulling Grantaire down into his bed, only briefly pausing to quietly ask if this is alright, where they curl up beneath the covers and drift off to sleep, in each other’s arms – happy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from the looks of things there are going to be like 50 chapters I’m crying and I’m so sorry but on the bright side enj and r are sort of getting their shit together 
> 
> (they’re going to have a more in depth conversation about what happened to enj and if u think that might be triggering or unpleasant for u pls let me know and I’ll forewarn u all when that chapter arrives)
> 
> The last chapter got sO MANY NICE COMMENTS THANK YOU you are more than I deserve


	23. Some Things Change

It doesn’t take long for Grantaire to find the bad side of spending a night in Enjolras’ bed. He can’t look at Enjolras without remembering the feeling of his arms around him. He can’t lie in bed at night without some part of him wishing Enjolras was there too. He thinks he might vibrate out of his skin with all the Not Talking About It that’s going on.

He catches Enjolras’ eye sometimes and finds it hard to look away. Their close friendship is almost too much. The casual touches and the soft smiles overwhelm Grantaire and he’s not sure Enjolras realises what’s happening.

At times Enjolras throws his arms around Grantaire in an overly-enthusiastic hug, and Grantaire remembers a time when he was jealous of Courfeyrac and Combeferre for these hugs, but now he finds he doesn’t know what to do with them.

Once, Enjolras throws his arm around Grantaire’s shoulder, talking enthusiastically as they walk to lunch, and Grantaire catches Combeferre’s eye. Combeferre gives him a shrug with an almost bitter smile. Grantaire doesn’t know how Combeferre survived it.

Speaking of Combeferre, Grantaire is finding himself relieved and infinitely happy as he watches Combeferre and Floréal’s unexpected relationship flourish. They both seem so genuinely happy with each other, and Grantaire can’t find it in him to believe that Combeferre is over Enjolras, but he also can see plainly that whatever the boy feels for Enjolras, disappears completely when Floréal smiles at him.

This side of Christmas, all the drama, art, and music students start to panic. Their exams seem a lot closer now, with art in March, music in April, and drama in early May. This means that a good proportion of Grantaire’s group of friends are wired pretty tightly.

Courfeyrac, Jehan, Cosette, and Éponine are constantly rehearsing in the common room, forcing people to give their opinions and trying out new movements in each scene a thousand times. Grantaire, Feuilly, and Floréal, are panicking as they still try to decide on what to do in their final exam for art. And, well, the music students are a mess.

Grantaire’s almost there with his composition, having written a song on the guitar, and having bribed a student from the year above to help out by accompanying him on the cello, but cannot for the life of him find two songs that fit together. Floréal and Musichetta are on top of things with their mashups – Floréal’s gave Grantaire chills the first time he heard it – but seem not to know where to _start_ when it comes to writing their own pieces. Éponine’s tactic simply seems to be lying on the floor and crying about chord progressions.

One Saturday, as Grantaire heads into the music room to try and get some sort of headway on his mashup, he finds Éponine playing the piano and singing sweetly. He stands back, waiting for her to finish. It’s a song that he knows well, being a secret fan of _Wicked_ , and Éponine sings it beautifully.

Grantaire applauds when she finishes and she turns to him with a big smile.

“Auditions for the school play start soon,” Éponine explains. “I’m still trying to convince them to do _Wicked_ instead of _Wizard of Oz_.”

“I assume you’d play Elphaba?” Grantaire asks, with a grin, judging from the performance he’s just walked in on.

“Well, obviously,” she says with a laugh. “You should hear me sing _Defying Gravity_. No one else in this school can belt out that song like I can.”

Grantaire nods, not doubting her for a second. “Who’s your Fiyero?”

She thinks about it, hard. “Courfeyrac, I think.”

Grantaire grins approvingly. “He’d be perfect,” Grantaire says, laughing. He puts on an overly self-assured voice and says, “So, what’s the most swankified place in town?”

Éponine laughs, delightedly, and replies, with enthusiasm, “That would be the Ozdust Ballroom!” She then breaks character, saying, “Why don’t you audition?”

“Too busy, don’t have stage presence, can’t act, oh the list goes on,” Grantaire reasons. He heads over to the bookshelves as Éponine scoffs.

“Excuses, excuses,” she tuts.

He pulls on of the books off the shelves, looking down at it with something of a frown. Suddenly he looks up. “How much Christina Perri do you know?” he demands of her, the thought striking him like an epiphany.

“I’m gonna say… Not a lot?” she says, apologetically.

“Okay,” Grantaire says, “no problem.” He yanks his phone out of his pocket, quickly scrolling through his music library before he finds the right song. “Tell me if you think you can sing this.”

Éponine listens to the song intently. When it finishes, she only says, “Play it again.” Grantaire complies, and this time she hums along to the general tune. The third time, she sings a few lines and the chorus, and Grantaire beams.

“You’re _perfect_ ,” he gushes and she smiles back at him.

“Well, thank you,” she replies. “Now what are you going to do with it?”

He smiles enigmatically and says, “I’m going to mix it with _this_.” He clicks to another song, and as it plays, a grin spreads across Éponine’s face.

“Holy shit, R,” she says. “How the fuck am I going to top this? Fuck it, let’s do this. Come on, you play that and I’ll help work out where my song comes in.”

He could kiss her right now.

Grantaire realises that he’s in Éponine’s eternal debt an hour into practice. She’s meticulous, constantly trying new things and crossing out things that don’t work. Sometimes their voices clash, sometimes it just doesn’t sound _right_ , but she never gives up.

Eventually, they have something that sounds like a rough outline, and Grantaire and Éponine call it a day.

“I think it’s still missing something,” Éponine says, as they walk to the girls’ common room.

Grantaire knows she’s right and he hums his agreement. Neither one of them can think of anything to fill that space, though, so they drop the topic, resigning themselves to tackling it tomorrow.

They find Cosette, Marius, and Courfeyrac in the girls’ dorm, sitting on the sofa watching a film, some part of all of them touching. (Cosette’s hand on Marius’ thigh and her other holding Courfeyrac’s hand. Marius’ arm around Cosette’s shoulder, fingers gently brushing against Courfeyrac’s neck.)

Grantaire and Éponine smile at the sight and quietly leave them to their date, heading off to Éponine’s room.

“I’m so glad those three are together,” Éponine says as they close the door behind them. “Cosette’s liked Courfeyrac forever and I know Courf was really cut up about his break up with Jehan and Bahorel.”

Grantaire grimaces. “Yeah, I know. But these guys make him happy, and I really don’t think they’ll hurt him.”

“Of course they won’t,” Éponine laughs, flopping onto her bed and gesturing for Grantaire to follow suit. Which he does. “Cosette’s good at taking people for who they are and loving them anyway, and Marius couldn’t hurt a fly.”

Grantaire laughs. Then he looks towards Éponine, grinning. “Speaking of dating-”

“No, I will not fake-date you to make Enjolras jealous,” Éponine interrupts.

“Wow,” Grantaire says, amazed, “that’s not even _close_ to what I was going to say.”

“Good,” she replies. “Don’t get any ideas.”

He scoffs. “I’m not. Believe me.” Then he rolls his eyes. “Anyway, what I was _going to say_ is what’s up with you and Parnasse?”

Éponine lets out a dry, humourless laugh. “Absolutely nothing,” she says, bitterly.

“You still like him?” Grantaire asks, sure of the answer.

“I’m only human,” she replies, deprecatingly.

Grantaire snorts. “I know how that feels.”

She rolls her eyes at him then. “ _Please._ You do realise that Enjolras likes you too, right?”

Giving her a derisive look, Grantaire says, “Fuck off; if he liked me too we’d be getting somewhere by now.”

She just laughs, lounging back on her bed with one arm under her head as a pillow. “You should get Cosette to sing in your mashup – she’s really good.”

Grantaire hums his acknowledgment of the idea. “I cannot bring myself to think about that song at all right now,” he says. “Do you have some paper and a pencil in here?”

Éponine sits up, craning her neck to look. She points at her dresser. “Paper on there, and there should be a pen at least,” she says.

Grantaire smiles and hops to his feet to grab it. He rolls the biro between his fingers before putting the end on the paper and beginning a sketch of Éponine sprawled out across her bed. She watches him for a moment, but then lets her eyes fall closed and lets him get on with it. She does mumble a, “Make me look good,” but she doesn’t go out of her way to pose, and she doesn’t even check her hair. She must trust him.

Judging by her even breaths, Éponine falls asleep, and Grantaire finishes up the sketch. He doesn’t leave, though. Éponine’s room is nice and warm, her bed comfortable, and he has enough paper to keep sketching.

Well, it’s not really sketching – more… doodling. It’s really silly, actually. Fun, though.

He’s just working on a drawing of Musichetta as a cat when there’s a knock at the door. Éponine doesn’t even stir when Grantaire calls for whoever it is to come in.

To Grantaire’s surprise, it’s Enjolras who sticks his head through the door. He opens his mouth to say something, but then spots the sleeping Éponine and pauses. He frowns, slightly, and then whispers. “What are you doing in here?”

Grantaire holds up the sketch of Éponine and his other more childish sketches. “I was drawing her and she fell asleep,” he explains.

Enjolras nods as if this is perfectly normal.

“Can I see those?” Enjolras asks, gesturing to the doodles.

“Sure,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras moves to sit next to him on the bed.

Enjolras picks up one of the sheets of paper, and Grantaire can see the confusion followed by humour flash across his face.

Grantaire grins. “Okay, so I drew you as the Enjolraffe, partly because of the name, and partly because of how awkwardly majestic you are,” he tells Enjolras, pointing at the picture.

“Awkwardly majestic?” Enjolras echoes, sounding amusing, and Grantaire looks at him with a grin. Enjolras squints at the paper, as if to get a better look. “So,” he says, “it’s basically a centaur but a giraffe instead of a horse?”

“Basically,” Grantaire agrees, with a laugh.

From her end of the bed, Éponine groans. “Go be mushy somewhere else,” she tells them, clearly woken by their talking. “Leave the drawing of me,” she then adds, and Grantaire complies, getting to his feet and putting the paper down on her dresser.

Enjolras stifles a laugh and Grantaire grabs his hand, pulling him up off the bed. Enjolras doesn’t let go of his hand and Grantaire looks at him for a moment before accepting it and opening the door to let them out into the hall.

Enjolras’ hand is warm in his own, and their fingers interlock, slotting together perfectly. Grantaire stares at the floor, his heart in his mouth, as he tries to think of something to say. The words get lost, but Enjolras gives his hand a gentle squeeze, and that’s enough.

Creeping past Courfeyrac, Cosette, and Marius, Grantaire sneaks a look at Enjolras. The blond boy smiles at him, and Grantaire feels blood rush to his cheeks.

In Grantaire’s other hand is his sketchbook, and he clutches it tightly instead of Enjolras’ hand, thinking that it’s best not to crush the hand of the boy he likes the first time they hold hands. In all, Grantaire feels a little silly for the effect that this is having on him; they walk down the hallway in silence, and Grantaire thinks his heart might beat right out of his chest.

Reaching the boys’ common room, Grantaire’s managed to muster just enough courage to pull them to a stop. Enjolras stops and looks at him, a slight frown appearing.

“Are we doing this?” Grantaire asks.

“Doing what?” Enjolras asks, and he drops Grantaire’s hand.

Grantaire feels the loss, his hand feeling cold and empty now, so he quickly moves his now free hand to grasp the sketchbook too. “I guess not,” Grantaire says. He tries to move past Enjolras, to get into the common room, but Enjolras grabs his arm.

“Hey,” he says, softly. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?” Grantaire shrugs, and Enjolras takes a small step closer. “What’s wrong?” he asks, again, his voice low.

Looking up at him, Grantaire struggles to catch his breath. Enjolras’ hand slips down his arm, coming to rest on top of Grantaire’s hand.

“ _This_ ,” Grantaire says. “Are we doing _this_?”

Enjolras’ eyes drop to look at their touching hands, but Grantaire looks straight at the other boy’s face.

Quietly, Enjolras asks, “Do you _want_ to do this?”

Grantaire almost smiles at that. “I’m pretty sure the whole world knows _I_ want to do this. I’m just a little shocked that suddenly _you_ seem to want to.” Enjolras remains silent, so Grantaire then adds, “ _Do_ you want to do this?”

Enjolras’ eyes find him. “I think so,” he whispers. “Maybe?” He curses, a soft murmur in French. “I don’t know, Grantaire.”

Grantaire shuts his eyes for a moment. When he reopens them, Enjolras clear blue eyes are looking at him, only a breath away. Grantaire can see each eyelash, every light freckle across Enjolras’ nose and cheeks, the slight bite marks on Enjolras’ lower lip.

“I-” Grantaire starts, but he’s silenced by Enjolras’ lips on his. It’s only a fleeting press of lips – it’s a dream – and then Enjolras pulls away. He doesn’t look surprised by his own actions, and he doesn’t look like he regrets it. He simply appears calm and collected, as he always seems to be as Grantaire falls apart.

“I find it hard to think properly around you,” Enjolras says, his voice sure. “It makes it hard to know what I want.”

“Well,” Grantaire says, and he’s relieved to find that his own voice is steady, “I know what I want. If you could think about it and work out what _you_ want, I’d like that.”

He counts it as a miracle that his legs don’t give out beneath him as he gently pulls away from Enjolras, turning and pushing open the door to the common room and walking inside. Forcing himself to keep it together, he walks across to Bahorel and Jehan, smiling determinedly.

“Are you guys busy?” he asks.

They look up at him, and they must know something is wrong, because their faces harden simultaneously. “No,” Jehan says.

“Do you wanna go to the gym?” Grantaire asks, choosing to ignore the way he hears the common room door open and the sound of Enjolras’ footsteps enter the room.

As Bahorel says, “Sure,” and the pair get to their feet, someone – Combeferre, Grantaire thinks – says, “[Hey, Enj, what’s wrong?]”

Grantaire takes a deep breath and says, “Great.”

He doesn’t look at Enjolras as the three of them leave the room, and though he knows Bahorel and Jehan are dying to ask, he’s relieved that they don’t. He just doesn’t know what he’d tell them.

-

Grantaire lies in bed that night, shivering. It’s cold and the bed that usually feels too small seems to drown him. It’s too dark, it’s too cold, he’s too alone. He hates feeling this way.

He flicks on the lamp next to his bed and looks at the clock on his bedside table. The digits read **11:27** and Grantaire decides that’s not so late. His guitar is leaning against the wall and he leans out of the bed to grab it.

His fingers naturally play a simple tune, one that he wrote himself when he was younger and still learning, but it soon morphs into a song that he knows his friends would tease him for knowing – well, maybe not; quite a few of his friends probably _like_ Taylor Swift. Éponine. She’d tease him for it. The song then slips into something else, something that he doesn’t recognise at first, but his fingers know it.

When it clicks, it brings a smile to his face.

_Look at the stars,_ he sings, quietly, hoping not to disturb any of his friends in the adjacent rooms.

_Look how they shine for you,_

_And everything you do,_

_Yeah, they were all yellow._

He continues to sing the song, as quietly as he can, fingers carefully strumming the strings.

_You know I love you so…_

There’s a knock at the door, and he freezes. “Sorry!” he calls. “I’ll shut up!” he promises. He expects to hear one of his friends call a ‘thank you’ back, but instead the door creaks open.

“You don’t have to,” Enjolras says, standing in the half-light of the hallway.

Grantaire freezes up, hands tense on his guitar, and he doesn’t know how to respond.

Enjolras slips inside his room, shutting the door behind him, and he carefully lowers himself to the floor, sitting with his back against the wall.

Not know what else to do, Grantaire slowly begins to play again, and his voice sings, somehow even quieter than before.

_I swam across,_

_I jumped across for you,_

_Oh what a thing to do._

_'Cause you were all yellow._

Enjolras closes his eyes, and Grantaire appreciates that he’s no longer being scrutinised by the boy.

_For you I’d bleed myself dry…_

He swallows, trying to keep his hands from slipping on the strings, and to keep his voice from shaking.

_It's true_ , he sings.

_Look how they shine for you._

Grantaire can’t take his eyes away from Enjolras. Wouldn’t, even if he could.

Enjolras’ eyes open, and he stares right back.

_Look at the stars,_

_Look how they shine for you,_

_And all the things that you do._

Grantaire’s voice and guitar fade away to nothing.

“You’re really good,” Enjolras says. “I always forget just how good.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire replies, because, really, that’s all he knows how to say in this moment.

“I-” Enjolras begins, but then stops himself. He blinks and gets to his feet. “Can I sleep in here, tonight?” he asks.

Grantaire’s too weak to deny him anything, and he knows it. Enjolras’ arms have been a phantom around him as he sleeps for two weeks now, and he nods. Setting the guitar down, Grantaire moves back against the wall to give Enjolras enough room to slot in. Enjolras immediately curls up against Grantaire.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras whispers.

Grantaire wraps an arm around him. “What for?” he asks.

“For being so afraid,” Enjolras answers.

“I think a little fear is justified in your life,” Grantaire murmurs.

Enjolras shifts in the bed, clinging to Grantaire a little tighter. “I don’t want my fear to hurt anyone else.”

“Then don’t let it,” Grantaire replies, and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of Enjolras’ head. “Talk to me.” Enjolras buries his face in Grantaire’s chest, and after a moment, Grantaire can feel the boy shaking. “Hey,” Grantaire says, softly. “It’s okay,” he tells him. “I’m here, it’s okay, everything’s okay.”

“I’m just-” Enjolras tries to say. “I’m just so scared.”

Grantaire squeezes him tighter, as if trying to reassure Enjolras with his physical existence. Prove to him that he’s not alone. “Not everyone’s your mother,” Grantaire whispers, “and not everyone’s Claquesous. Not all relationships fall apart, and not everyone is going to try and hurt you.” Enjolras stills in his arms, and then he looks up, face damp with tears. “Combeferre and Courfeyrac love you. Valjean and Cosette think of you as their real family. All your friends would probably follow you into battle.”

Enjolras continues to look up at him, his blue eyes big and round. “What about you?” Enjolras asks.

“I’m not going anywhere, either,” Grantaire promises. “Let’s try and get some rest, and then tomorrow we’ll go into town and I’ll buy you a coffee and we can talk as much or as little as you want. Does that sound good?”

“That sounds perfect,” Enjolras whispers.

“Okay,” Grantaire replies. He reaches over Enjolras and turns out the light before sinking down into the bed and holding Enjolras close to him.

He doesn’t comment when Enjolras starts to cry again; all he does is hold him just a little tighter and breathe evenly, giving Enjolras something constant to let his thoughts mould to.

When and only when Enjolras’ own breathing evens out, Grantaire falls asleep.

-

Enjolras and Grantaire wake up late and miss breakfast the next day. Enjolras looks shaken, and Grantaire gives him a hug and decides that they’re going to take a shower, carefully guiding Enjolras in the right direction.

Afterwards, Enjolras looks more put together, and a lot more like his usual self. He gives Grantaire a warm smile, and everything feels normal once more.

“You ready?” Grantaire says, now standing in Enjolras’ bedroom doorway as the other boy pulls on a jumper.

“Yeah,” Enjolras replies with a smile.

Grantaire finds himself holding Enjolras’ hand for the second time in two days as they head down the stairs towards the main entrance. None of their friends approach them, though they do see them, and Grantaire’s immensely grateful towards them in this moment.

Sitting on the bus, side by side, Grantaire offers Enjolras’ one of his earbuds, and Enjolras smiles, putting it into his ear. Grantaire lets his music play on shuffle, suddenly a lot more self-conscious of what plays than he normally is. Enjolras doesn’t seem to openly dislike anything, though that could just be politeness. (Grantaire thinks they’re at the stage where they can insult each other’s music taste, but maybe Enjolras doesn’t.)

Together they find their way to the Musain, and Grantaire buys them both a sandwich, while Enjolras buys them coffee. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras seems to think about it as he takes a sip of his coffee. “No,” he says, after a moment. “Not right now.”

“That’s okay,” Grantaire says. “Can I just ask one question?”

Enjolras hums his consent.

“Who knows about what happened to you?” Grantaire asks. “I mean, Combeferre knows, because he advised me to talk to you about your parents after I yelled at you about being privileged and all that, and Valjean must know, but… is there anyone else?”

“Courfeyrac,” Enjolras replies, immediately. “Cosette, to some extent. Jehan.”

Grantaire nods. “Are you feeling okay right now?”

Enjolras looks at him for a long moment. He looks as if he could cry, and Grantaire regrets asking, but then Enjolras glances away, and when he looks back he’s smiling, albeit a little watery. “Right now?” Enjolras asks. “Right now I’m as okay as I could possibly be.” He reaches out across the table to take the hand that Grantaire isn’t using to hold his mug. “Thank you,” he says.

“What are friends for?” Grantaire says with a smile.

Enjolras flinches, pulling his hand away, and he looks down at the table, looking stung. Grantaire feels the regret swoop back through him, and he’s just about to apologise when Enjolras says, “I’m working on it.” He looks back up at Grantaire. “I promise. I’m working on it. There’s just… some things that I can’t quite- I can’t-”

“That’s good enough for me,” Grantaire interrupts, with a reassuring smile. “I’ll be here whenever you get there,” he laughs, softly, “for better or for worse.”

Enjolras smiles then, almost shyly, and he echoes, “For better or for worse.”

They both stare at each other, smiles upon their faces, and then Enjolras starts to laugh – an honest to God laugh – and Grantaire swears he’s never heard a more beautiful sound in all his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay it’s totally not going to be a thing where every chapter includes snuggling in bed (it might be a thing i’M WEAK OKAY WEAK)
> 
> oh god enj is showing weakness and a need for comfort ppl are gonna hate me and be all “OOC” nah m8 nahh he’s 17 lay off brah and anyway enj of every age feels weakness he is but a soft man who loves the world tOO MUCH 
> 
> okay disclaimer: I don’t know when the next chapter is gonna be things are starting to get hectic and ahh no promises I hope it’s soon but   
> A: writing’s HARD and   
> B: exaammsss and   
> C: I’m generally just pretty exhausted at the minute so mustering up the will to write is not necessarily the easiest thing in the world and   
> D: my internet access is pretty damn crappy at the minute (so if I haven’t replied to ur comment it’s because I can barely get on here to post this damn chapter let alone type out comments aahhh I’m ssorryyyy)
> 
> thank you for all your lovely comments you all mean the world to me oh and about the kiss: YOU’RE WELCOME 
> 
> (sort of)


	24. These Teen Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been three weeks i'm awful i'm so sorry

He was only meant to be in there for a second, dropping off some pencils he borrowed in their last art lesson and forgot to give back, but just as he was about to leave Floréal’s room he heard her voice coming in his direction.

That would have been fine. Nothing to concern himself about. But then he heard Enjolras’ voice too, and Grantaire went into full panic mode.

Things are a bit touch and go between Enjolras and Grantaire, because sometimes Enjolras looks at him, with that soft smile and those soulful eyes, and Grantaire just wants to curl up around him. Sometimes Enjolras gets called out of class, and when Grantaire asks about it later, Enjolras just says, “Family issues,” but he looks deeply sad. Sometimes Enjolras sneaks into Grantaire’s room late at night and cuddles up under the covers with him.

And they never talk about it.

He looks around as their voices come nearer and then he drops to the floor and rolls under the bed.

“[How do you do it, Floréal?]” Enjolras asks, sounding tired as the door opens. Grantaire freezes, suddenly realising what a horrible mistake he’s made.

“[Honesty,]” she replies. He could have just left the room. He had a _perfectly_ good excuse for being there. He didn’t even have to interrupt their conversation. “[We’re not an old married couple, but we have to be honest with each other. We talked about how we don’t know where this is going, and how we both have feelings that are hard to understand both for each other and for other people, but that we want to give it a go anyway.]”

“[Oh,]” Enjolras says. “[Yeah, okay, that makes sense.]”

Grantaire doesn’t move, holding his breath, and he silently prays that they leave soon.

“[Enjolras,]” Floréal says, softly. “[Tell him how you feel.]”

Grantaire squeezes his eyes shut and hopes that they can’t hear his heartbeat. Of course they can’t; it would be ridiculous to suppose that they could, and yet the _thudthudthud_ of his heart in his chest seems unbearably loud, and he can’t help but wonder.

“[Is it ridiculous that I’m still scared to?]” he asks.

“[Yes!]” Floréal exclaims, sounding thoroughly exasperated.

“[I know he… _likes_ me but I’m still scared to put myself out there like that. There are so many things to think about, and what if we break up and end up hating each other, and what if he wants to- Oh, God. I don’t know what I want, Floréal.]”

She scoffs. The carpet on Floréal’s bedroom floor is surprisingly solid and uncomfortable. “[You don’t know what you want,]” she repeats, slowly, sounding incredibly scornful. “[Really? Let me spell it out for you. You. Want. Him. You’re just too scared to _say_ that’s what you want. It’s ridiculous. You’ve never been scared of anything in your life and you’ve never been afraid to tell people what you want. Why is it different now?]”

There’s a long silence, and then Enjolras says, “[Because it’s _him_.]”

Floréal starts to speak, but then Enjolras interrupts her. “[If I have him and then lose him I don’t know what I’ll do. He- I’ve never- I’ve never felt like this before and it’s _terrifying_ , Floréal.]”

She sighs, softly, and says, “[I know.]”

Grantaire’s starting to give up hope that they’ll ever leave, and he’s finding himself surprised at just how much of their conversation he can understand. He hid at first out of random panic, and it would be weird to reveal himself now, but neither one of them are giving any indication that the conversation is coming to a close.

One of them – Floréal, he thinks – flops heavily onto the bed, stretching out, and Grantaire stares at the floor, one hand pressed to his mouth to stop his breathing from being heard. Enjolras sighs.

“[He’s going to leave,]” Enjolras says. “[He’s going to go back to America.]”

“[Well, of _course_ he is,]” Floréal says, her voice sounding like a verbal eye-roll, “[but would you rather have the next six months and then _possibly_ nothing, or nothing at all?]”

Grantaire shifts, the carpet digging into his elbows.

“[I don’t know,]” is Enjolras’ tired reply.

Grantaire wants to scream. He doesn’t. He keeps quiet. He keeps still. He waits them out. When finally – _finally_ – Enjolras leaves, Grantaire feels ready to explode and he rolls out from under the bed without waiting for Floréal to leave.

She blinks once in surprise and then she accepts it. “[Why?]” is all she asks.

Grantaire shrugs. “[I panicked.]”

She rolls her eyes and doesn’t stop him from leaving.

The hallway outside her door is empty and silent, not a single student to be seen – and no sign of Enjolras. He decides to go looking for him, knowing that the obvious place is the common room.

The corridors are weirdly empty as Grantaire heads towards his rooms, and he gets a little caught up in thinking about everything that he overheard. He _knows_ Enjolras likes him, and he knows Enjolras knows that he likes him, so he can’t help but wonder why they aren’t _doing_ anything about it.

Something is clearly bothering Enjolras and Grantaire wishes that Enjolras would just _talk_ to him about it.

 “Grantaire!” Enjolras’ voice interrupts his thoughts, and Grantaire looks up in surprise to see Enjolras making his way over to him, across the common room.

“Hey,” Grantaire says. “I was just looking for you. What’s up?”

“Do you… Do you want to watch a film, um, in my room, or something?” Enjolras asks him, smiling in a way that Grantaire can only describe as hopeful.

“Sure,” he replies, aiming for casual. Enjolras beams at him, and Grantaire feels his heart leap. He determinedly ignores Montparnasse’s wolf whistle as Enjolras and he leave the common room, heading towards Enjolras’ room. He does notice the way Enjolras’ cheeks turn a delicate pink at the sound, however, and a little part of Grantaire is pleased by that fact.

Enjolras flops onto his bed as soon as they get there, and he pats the empty space beside him, motioning for Grantaire to join him. Which he does. Of course.

The atmosphere in the room feels a little tense, and Grantaire’s arm is pressed against Enjolras, giving him the knowledge that Enjolras is sitting stiffly.

“What are we watching?” Grantaire asks, attempting to diffuse the tension.

Enjolras blushes. “Um, well you seemed a little despairing at the fact that I haven’t seen _The Moulin Rouge,_ so I, uh, downloaded it? If you want to watch something else then I’m okay with that, I just thought-”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire interrupts, smiling, “that’s perfect.”              

“Oh,” Enjolras says. “Okay.”

Enjolras settles back against the headboard of his bed, Grantaire leaning against him, heavily, and he queues up the movie, balancing his laptop on his knees. Sneaking a glance at Enjolras, Grantaire sees a smile on his face, and Grantaire takes it upon himself to get them closer, resting his head on Enjolras’ shoulder. As soon as he makes this move, Enjolras reaches for his hand, taking hold of it and linking their fingers together.

The movie starts, and Grantaire feels so comfortable, sitting on Enjolras’ bed.

“Is this black and white the whole way through?” Enjolras asks, quietly.

Grantaire chuckles. “No. It’s a _very_ colourful movie, I promise.”

Enjolras shifts to make himself more comfortable, while clearly trying not to unbalance the laptop. “That’s okay. I didn’t expect you to like black and white movies, is all.”

Grantaire smirks. “I’m sorry, you thought the art, music, history, and literature student wouldn’t like black and white movies?”

He knows that if he looked at Enjolras right now, he’d catch him blushing again.

“Good point,” Enjolras says, and then falls silent as Grantaire shushes him to pay attention to the movie. “Ooh, it’s set in Paris,” he then says, failing at staying silent. Grantaire stifles a laugh, and Enjolras tilts his face to look at him, grinning. “Sorry,” he says, “I’m being quiet now.”

He doesn’t quite manage to stay quiet for the whole movie – especially when he launches into a spiel about sex workers’ rights, but on the whole, Grantaire thinks he does pretty well.

When it reaches ‘One Day I’ll Fly Away’, Grantaire knows Enjolras is looking at him, but he chooses to ignore it, simply giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Near the end, when both Satine and Christian are crying, singing ‘Come What May’, Enjolras says something quietly, lips pressing briefly to Grantaire’s hair: “[I’m yours,]” he whispers.

Engrossed in the film, Grantaire doesn’t catch what he says – only hears the soft murmur of French. Grantaire glances at him. “[What did you say?]”

Enjolras just smiles. “[Nothing.]”

After the credits have rolled, and Enjolras has closed the laptop lid, setting it aside, he tilts his head to look down at Grantaire. “Can we talk?”

Grantaire pulls a face, reluctant to do anything that might stop Enjolras from trailing his fingers across the skin on his arm. “Sure,” he says, despite his misgivings.

“I want to try,” Enjolras says, immediately, and Grantaire feels his eyes widen in surprise. “I want to give us a try.” Grantaire opens his mouth to reply, but then Enjolras says, “But…” and Grantaire pauses.

“What?” he asks.

“ _But_ I don’t want everyone to know just yet,” he trails off slowly. “I don’t know what I’m doing, R,” Enjolras says with a sigh, looking thoroughly tired. “I’m really trying, but the fact is I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I know,” Grantaire says, quickly. “I know you are, and that means so much to me, Enjolras.”

Enjolras looks at him, expression nearing a gentle smile. “I really like you, Grantaire.”

Grantaire smiles, then. “I really like you, too.” He looks at Enjolras, trying to work out how the boy is feeling for a moment, before, shifting to face him more, he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Enjolras’ eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to say something, but then seems to change his mind, quickly closing it. Something is clearly not right, and Grantaire hastens to say, “You can say no. I won’t- I won’t be upset.”

“It’s- It’s not that,” Enjolras says, voice filled with hesitation.

“What is it, then?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras takes a deep breath, seeming to steel himself. “I’m asexual,” he says, in a rush. “I don’t want to have sex with you, and I never will.” As he says it, he blushes bright red, and Grantaire falls a little bit in love with him for it.

Enjolras, however, seems to take Grantaire’s silence as a bad thing. “I’m really sorry,” he says, quickly.

His apology triggers Grantaire into speaking and he blurts out, “No!”

That makes Enjolras pause. “No?” he queries.

“I mean, it’s okay! I know! Wait- That’s probably not what I should- Agh- It’s _fine_ , Enjolras!” Grantaire stumbles through sentences, and Enjolras is only looking more confused and flustered.

“You _know_?” he asks, incredulously. “How could you _know_?”

It’s Grantaire’s turn to blush as he says, “Courfeyrac and Combeferre,” hesitantly.

“They told you?” Enjolras asks, sounding a little hurt.

Rushing to defend their friends, Grantaire quickly says, “No, they didn’t tell me! I overheard them.”

Enjolras frowns. “…You know what ‘asexual’ is in French?”

“What?” Grantaire asks. “No! They were speaking English.”

“ _Why_?”

“I _don’t know_!” Grantaire exclaims. “This isn’t even the point! The point is: I’m okay with that, Enjolras. I’m okay with you being asexual. I’ve known for ages.”

“Oh,” Enjolras says, sounding surprised. Then, “But you’re so… sexual.” He blatantly cringes as he says it. “I mean, you talk about sex all the time. You- You _like_ sex.”

Grantaire huffs a laugh and tries not to roll his eyes, knowing that would likely just upset Enjolras. “Sure, I like sex. Sex is fun. But I like you too, Enjolras, and, believe me, sex is not the be all and end all. I can survive without sex. I’ve not had any sex since I arrived in France – have I _died_ from lack of sex?”

“No?” Enjolras says, hesitantly, as if not sure Grantaire even wanted an answer.

Grantaire grins. “Exactly! Look, you’re not interested in sex, I am, that’s- It’s just not relevant. I’m not going to make you have sex with me!”

“Huh,” Enjolras says, sounding honestly surprised. Grantaire feels a teeny bit insulted, but he knows that he shouldn’t. God knows he’s talked about sex in front of Enjolras enough times. Suddenly something occurs to him, and he gasps.

“Oh, Enj, when you got upset at New Year, was it because I was talking about sex?”

Enjolras blushes, again. Grantaire likes how easy it is to get Enjolras to blush. “Maybe?” Enjolras says. He groans. “I don’t know, you were just… so casual about it. Like you just expect it to be part of your life, and I can’t- I can’t do that.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, softly. “We’re in high school. This isn’t my _life_. Look, I want to give us a go, and I’m thrilled that you do too. So, are we going to do that, or what?”

“I would like to do that,” Enjolras says.

“Good,” Grantaire says. “Me too.”

Enjolras looks a little flustered, and Grantaire takes hold of one of his hands, reassuringly. “Uh,” Enjolras says, “so I’m not totally opposed to kissing?”

Grantaire smirks. “Yes, I had thought that, considering you kissed me the other week.”

Enjolras blushes and looks down at his knees. Glancing up he says, “So could we…?”

Grantaire smiles and leans in to press their lips together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for how long this took and how short this chapter is. I am but a tiny exhausted 15 yr old trying to pass her gcses. I hope this wasn’t terrible? They got together???
> 
> Thank you for all your comments – you’re all AMAZING. Your comments are like good cocaine or something. Idk that was a weird description I’ve never done cocaine DON’T DO DRUGS KIDS but someone said that they’re addicted to this fic and that’s how I feel about your comments so PLEASE keep em coming!
> 
> If any of you have had/are having exams I hope you’re doing alright! I’ve only got one more to go (science gross) and then it’s summer for me so I should be able to spend more time writing! We’ll see. I make no promises about my regularity. But! I do promise that I won’t ever give up on this fic!
> 
> (I very nearly titled this chapter Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby)


	25. To See Your Beautiful Smile

“Psst,” a voice says, from somewhere in the library.

Grantaire looks up from his homework, frowning.

“ _Psst_.”

He looks around. He’s the only one within his sight.

“For fuck’s sake,” the voice then says, and Grantaire recognises it to be Courfeyrac.

Rolling his eyes, Grantaire says, “Can’t you just start a conversation like a normal person?”

“No,” Courfeyrac whispers back – still from an unseen location. “And will you _please_ keep your voice down before Madame Lux comes over here.”

That makes Grantaire rolls his eyes again. “Just come sit down, Courf.”

Courfeyrac comes out from behind one of the stacks, looking thoroughly disappointed with Grantaire. “There’s only so much mystery my life can have, couldn’t you let me have this?”

“No,” Grantaire replies, immediately. “What do you want?”

“It’s Enjolras’ birthday tomorrow,” Courfeyrac reveals, looking smug as can be.

Grantaire blinks in surprise. How did he not know that? How did he not know his _boyfriend’s –_ admittedly of only a week –birthday? “Oh,” he says. “He didn’t say anything.”

“He never does,” Courfeyrac says, sounding exasperated with his best friend, “which is why it falls to _us_ – those that love him dearest – to make sure he gets a present and a party!”

“Do you already have a present? Because if it’s tomorrow that’s-”

“I’ve got the present,” Courfeyrac interrupts. “What I need from _you_ ,” he says, grinning mischievously, “is to keep him busy and out of the common room until 5:00 PM tomorrow.” He raises an eyebrow at Grantaire. “Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir,” Grantaire replies.

“Kinky,” is Courfeyrac’s only comment, and then he’s swanning out of the library, leaving Grantaire wondering how he’s going to keep Enjolras’ distracted for an entire Saturday.

-

It turns out to not be that hard.

Grantaire wakes Enjolras up at around 9:00 AM by pouncing on his bed and wriggling his way under the covers. Enjolras looks at him with bleary amusement, and says, “What are you doing?”

“It’s time to get up! I’ve decided I want to go into town, and as my secret boyfriend, you are obligated to keep me company,” Grantaire announces.

“I’m not obligated to do shit,” Enjolras complains, burying his face in his pillow.

Grantaire plants a kiss on the top of his head. “Fine then,” he says. “Do it just because you like me. I’ll buy your dinner, if you want.”

Enjolras peeks at him. “Deal.”

-

Enjolras keeps sneaking looks at him throughout the day. As they wander along shelves in a bookstore – _the_ bookstore, actually, the one where he and Jehan conspired about Enjolras’ feelings all those months before – Enjolras links their hands together, and gives him a quiet smile. Then later, as they sit in a café, drinking coffee and eating sandwiches, Enjolras says, “This has been one of the best days of my life.”

Grantaire looks at him with incredible fondness. “I’m glad,” he says.

As they’re walking back to the bus stop, Enjolras asks, “Who told you?”

“Told me what?” Grantaire replies. Their hands are joined in between them, enjoying the freedom of not having to pretend outside the school.

“That it’s my birthday,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire blushes, a little embarrassed at being caught. “Courfeyrac,” he admits. “I just wanted to do something nice for you, but you hadn’t told me, so…”

Enjolras kisses him on the cheek, somewhat awkwardly, as they’re still walking, but it makes Grantaire smile nonetheless. “Thank you,” Enjolras says.

“[You’re welcome],” Grantaire replies.

-

Enjolras practically leads Grantaire up to the common room, holding his hand and Grantaire can’t think of a way to make him let go. When the lights flick on, their friends all jump to their feet, screaming, “[Surprise!]” at the tops of their lungs. Even Grantaire, who knew it was coming, jumps out of his skin.

Enjolras flinches, almost crushing Grantaire’s hand, which he then immediately drops in favour of punching Grantaire on the arm. “You bastard!” he says, grinning. “ _That’s_ why you wanted to go to town!”

Grantaire laughs. Enjolras turns away from him as Courfeyrac pounces on him, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. “Happy birthday!” Courfeyrac declares, and the rest of their friends chime in.

Tugging on his arm, Courfeyrac leads Enjolras into the room, beaming. “So, we’ve got cake, and we’ve got crisps, and we’ve got both alcohol and fizzy drinks, since I know you aren’t that into beer, but the rest of us are, and you get to wear this crown.”

Enjolras takes one look at the pretty tiara that Courfeyrac is offering and knocks it out of his hand to the ground. “No,” he says flatly, making Grantaire snort with laughter.

Grantaire’s grabbed by Floréal at that moment, who hasn’t seen him all day, and she tugs him onto the sofa and folds herself into his arms, where they both get comfortable.  

Cosette grabs the tiara off the floor and positions it delicately on Joly’s head.

“Alright fine,” Courfeyrac says. “But we’re playing spin the bottle.”

“Ugh, it’s _my_ birthday,” Enjolras complains. “I don’t want any kissing games.”

A few people boo him, Cosette the loudest of them, but Montparnasse just grins, lazily. “Let the man choose his own birthday games.”

Enjolras looks across at Grantaire, who’s lounging with his arm around Floréal, watching his boyfriend enjoy his day. “Musical bumps,” Enjolras says, decisively.

Not long later, Grantaire decides that he hasn’t ever seen anything funnier than a group of sixteen and seventeen year olds throwing themselves at the floor when he turns the music off.  It’s a struggle to stay on his feet at the sight of Enjolras sprawled out across the floor, wincing at the bruises that he’s probably causing. Normally people choose to just sit down, but not Grantaire’s friends. And especially not Grantaire’s boyfriend.

“Ép,” Grantaire calls, “you were last.”

Éponine gets to her feet, groaning and rubbing her elbow. “Thank fuck,” she says. “I was getting concerned that the game would end with me in pieces.”

She walks over to join Grantaire and the other contestants who are out of the game.

When Grantaire presses play, he catches Enjolras’ eye, who grins and pulls a face as he continues to dance to the song. Grantaire laughs as he watches his boyfriend dance, because, damn, that boy cannot keep a rhythm.

Pressing pause on the CD player again, Grantaire almost cries with laughter as his friends all try to hit the floor as fast as possible. Montparnasse outwardly doesn’t seem to be bothered about winning, but the way he drops to the floor as the music stops betrays his competitiveness. This time, Enjolras landed on top of Joly.

It was unclear who was the last, but as Éponine points out, Enjolras didn’t really hit the floor.

“But he’s the birthday boy!” Grantaire protests.

“No favouritism, Grantaire,” Éponine says. “We are all equal.”

“She has a point,” Enjolras says, from where he’s still lying on top of Joly.

“Fine!” Grantaire concedes. “Get up and come stand over here.”

Clambering to his feet, Enjolras winces, and mutters an apology to Joly, who looks a little squished. Grantaire grins as Enjolras comes over and leans against him while he massages his shin. “You alright there?” he asks, as he turns the music back on, and all the players still in the game spring to their feet with renewed vigour.

“I’m fine,” Enjolras replies, smiling. “Wow,” he they says. “They look…”

“Ridiculous?” Grantaire offers.

“Yeah,” Enjolras says.

“And just think,” Grantaire says, teasing, “not two minutes ago you were one of them.”

“Hey!” Enjolras protests. “I can dance!”

Grantaire snorts. “No,” he says. “You really can’t.”

Éponine chooses to reach around them, then, and press pause on the music, since Grantaire had completely forgotten about the job he was supposed to be doing.

“Feuilly, you’re out,” Éponine cries, pointing at the boy lying flat on his back.

Sticking his middle finger up at everyone, Feuilly slouches over to the small group of eliminated people. Enjolras hand creeps around Grantaire’s back to rest on his waist.

“That’s not very subtle,” Grantaire murmurs, going tense at the touch.

Enjolras’ hand immediately disappears, and Grantaire sort of wishes that he hadn’t said anything. “You’re right,” Enjolras says. Grantaire rolls his eyes at him.

“Hey, happy birthday,” Grantaire then says, realising that he hasn’t said it, looking at Enjolras, a smile on his face.

“Thanks,” Enjolras replies. “Do you want a drink?”

“Mmm, that would be great,” Grantaire says, smiling up at him.

He watches Enjolras wander away as Éponine starts up the music again.

After Enjolras is gone, Grantaire turns his attention back to his friends’ dancing, laughing out loud at Floréal and Cosette and Marius’ odd three-way waltz.

“Not enough foot movement!” Éponine yells at the three of them, and then turns off the music before they can let go of each other. The resulting tangle of limbs is quite something to behold.

-

Grantaire’s been dancing with Floréal and Cosette for almost an hour now, and he’s exhausted. Feuilly, lounging on the floor nearby against the sofa, with Bahorel’s head in his lap, smiles up at him as he stretches and pulls himself away from the girls.

The American boy’s eyes seek out Enjolras automatically, wondering where he’s got to these past few hours. Eventually, Grantaire spots Enjolras drinking coke while talking to Cosette on the comfy chairs by the window. Just a little beyond them, Montparnasse sits by an open window, cigarette in between long fingers.

Grantaire starts to walk in Enjolras’ direction, prying Floréal’s fingers off his skin with a promise that he’ll dance with her more later.

Courfeyrac grabs his arm as he passes and spins him round so that he’s facing Courfeyrac and Combeferre. “We wanted to say thank you,” Courfeyrac says.

Grantaire asks, “What for?”

“For whatever you did that got him in such a good mood,” Combeferre explains. “He’s usually really sad on his birthdays due to family complications, but today he really does seem happy. So, thank you.”

Grantaire blushes and looks down at his toes for a second. “It’s not a problem,” he then says. “What else are friends for? Oh, and I know about the family complications, by the way. In case you didn’t know if I did or not.”

Combeferre smiles and lightly touches his arm. “You’re good for him.”

“Uh-” Grantaire says, unsure how to respond to that.

Courfeyrac leans in and whispers, “You have the best friends’ approval,” and then he winks, laughing.

Grantaire goes red, and says, “Um, thanks, but it’s not- We’re not- I-”

Both Courfeyrac and Combeferre raise an eyebrow, looking scarily alike in that moment. “Alright,” Combeferre says, raising his hands in a mockery of surrender. “If you say so.”

“Um, I do. Say so,” Grantaire stutters.

Courfeyrac gives Grantaire a knowing look and then drags Combeferre away, over to Éponine and Floréal on the ‘dance floor’. Smiling, Grantaire carries on over to where Enjolras is chatting to Musichetta in quick French. Grantaire just stands by him, waiting for him to be done. Musichetta gives him a look, a secret smile on her face.

Pretty soon, Musichetta says goodbye and goes to stop Bossuet from taking part in a human pyramid that the other boys seem to think is such a good idea, and Grantaire has Enjolras’ full attention.

“You look nice,” is what Enjolras says, taking another sip of his bottle of coke.

Grantaire smiles up at him. “So do you.” He glances around the room. Montparnasse is the only one close enough to hear them, and he seems completely absorbed in watching the stars. “Are you enjoying your party?”

“I am,” Enjolras says. His eyes track the movement of his sister as she dances. He smiles. “Everyone is, I think.”

“They are,” Grantaire confirms. “I think they’re taking it as their last chance to party before exams.”

Enjolras laughs. “Yeah, don’t remind me.”

“You’ll do fine,” Grantaire swears.

“So will you,” Enjolras replies.

“I know,” Grantaire teases, making Enjolras rolls his eyes and lightly shove at his shoulder. Grantaire beams.

“You’re really good at dancing,” Enjolras says, suddenly.

Grantaire grins and bats his eyelashes. “Were you watching me?” he asks, coyly.

Enjolras flushes, opening his mouth to respond, when Montparnasse’s slow drawl interrupts them. “Can you two flirt somewhere else? The lonely soul over here is in mourning.”

Both Grantaire and Enjolras roll their eyes at Montparnasse’s dramatics.

Courfeyrac’s voice yells over, then, shouting Enjolras’ name, and both Grantaire and he look in his direction. “[Enj, come over here!]”

Enjolras shoots Grantaire and apologetic look, which Grantaire waves away. “Go see what he wants.”

It turns out that what he wants is to rouse everybody in a rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ which some people are singing in French, some people are singing in English, and Marius, who drank an entire bottle of beer, is singing it in what sounds like Russian – but don’t hold Grantaire to that.

“Have you noticed how everyone in our school is alarmingly gay?” Feuilly asks Grantaire, as the American sits down heavily next to him by the sofa, watching Joly and Bossuet giggling and whispering together.

“Hmmm,” is all Grantaire can be bothered to reply with.

Feuilly nods and purses his lips before saying, “Yeah, Bahorel’s my heterosexual life partner.” He looks down at Bahorel who is now fast asleep in his lap and pets his hair, softly.

Grantaire looks at him. “Bahorel’s not heterosexual.”

Feuilly shrugs. “Neither am I. I’m working with what I’ve got.”

Grantaire laughs. “What are you then?”

“Aromantic asexual,” Feuilly replies with a shrug. “I don’t understand you people.”

Grantaire laughs, looking at him. “Hell, we don’t understand us either,” he says.

Feuilly tilts his head to look at him, bringing their faces to a closeness that probably should feel weird, but Grantaire can smell the alcohol on Feuilly’s breath, so Feuilly’s not finding it weird at all. “How’re things with Enjolras?”

Grantaire fumbles for words. “Enj- Enjolras? Um. Nothing. What? We’re not-”

Feuilly’s eyebrow raises and Grantaire blushes. “Alright,” Feuilly says. “Got it. There’s nothing between you and Enjolras.” He winks, excessively, and then goes back to petting Bahorel’s hair.

Grantaire exhales, sharply. “Look,” he says. “Enjolras doesn’t- We’re just- There’s really nothing to be said.”

Feuilly looks back at him. “Okay,” he says. His eyes are honest and kind. “I get it. Don’t worry.”

Grantaire nods. His eyes find his knees and stay there for a while, even as all his friends laugh and sing along to the music loudly. Feuilly’s hand reaches out and takes hold of his. Grantaire peeks at him and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I totally wrote this because it was my birthday and I realised that even with a whole school year I had not once written about it being someone’s birthday this also caused me to realise I’m almost the same age as the people in this fic wtf anyway this chapter was harder to write than it should have been “writers block” is killing me at the minute I hate everything I come up with wow 
> 
> Would you all hate me terribly if I wrote a chapter or two from other people’s point of view? Say, for example, Courfeyrac or Montparnasse? Let me know cause I totally wanna write about courferyac’s new relationship and how it’s affecting his friendship w jehan and Bahorel and I totally want to write about parnasse’s feelings for ep ??? maybe I should do some oneshots off the side?? But I think it’d be good for a chapter or two?? It’s up to you guys if I get a negative response to that idea I won’t do it but if a decent amount of you seem okay or positive about it then that’ll be the next chapter 
> 
> Oh shameless self-promotion time I wrote a mcd exr fic so if that’s your thing go ahead it’s not happy though at all but it’s called “unpredictable and unexpected” also I started another multi-chaptered one called “the best part of ‘believe’ is the ‘lie’” which is totally done being written I’m just only now uploading it so there’ll be a chapter of that every few days if you’re interested :)
> 
> Wow I’ll stop talking now except one last thing: thank you so much for reading my fic wow you all mean so much to me and thank you for your comments they always make me smile plus this fic has over 600 kudos and over 70 bookmarks like wow guys you all rock god bless
> 
> I could have called this “go shorty, it’s your birthday” but I didn’t I keep showing self-restraint that I thought I didn’t have


	26. Interlude: Courfeyrac, Jehan, and Bahorel

When Courfeyrac left Marius’ room, leaving his boyfriend and girlfriend sleeping peacefully, to go back to his own room and get changed, and he came face to face with his ex, it started what was possibly the most awkward silence that he has ever encountered.

“[Uh,]” he says, staring at Jehan, who has clearly just left Bahorel’s room.

He really has tried to stay friends with his exes, but it’s hard. There are too many left-over feelings, not to mention his guilt for leaving them.

Jehan looks him up and down, taking in his crumpled clothes and untamed hair, and then his eyes slide to Marius’ closed door. “[Good morning,]” he says, quite primly, and then turns on his heel and stalks off towards the common room.

Groaning, Courfeyrac hurries after him. “[Jehan- J- Come on, this is ridiculous- _Jehan_ -]”

“[Just leave me alone, Courfeyrac,]” Jehan says, without looking back at him. “[I’m really not in the mood.]”

“[I just want to talk, Jehan. Come on, I miss you!]” Courfeyrac cries.

“[Look, I really don’t want to talk right now,]” Jehan tells him, just as Courfeyrac catches up to him, gripping his arm and pulling him round.

Courfeyrac startles as he sees Jehan’s eyes flooded with tears, and he drops Jehan’s arm in surprise. “[Jehan, I-]” he says, softly.

“[ _Fuck you_ ,]” Jehan hisses. “[We were _happy_ , Courfeyrac.]”

“[ _You_ were,]” Courfeyrac replies. “[I stopped being happy months ago.]”

“[Then you should have said something!]” Jehan explodes. “[You shouldn’t hide something like that from the people who _love you_!]”

“[I didn’t know what else to do! I felt like I was letting you down, Jehan. I was lying to you but I didn’t know what else to do,]” Courfeyrac says, feeling utterly miserable, now.

Jehan reaches out for him, grasping his arm with one hand, while the other comes up to rest on his shoulder. “[We could have talked about it, Courf. We should have talked about it.]”

Courfeyrac nods, gloomily. “[I know, J. I know.]” He sighs. “[I did love you, I really did. Or at least, I thought I did. And then I didn’t know what to think, and I panicked.]”

“[When did you start to love them instead of us?]” Jehan asks Courfeyrac, and Courfeyrac pulls away from his touch.

“[I don’t know,]” he says. “[Before, after, what does it matter?]”

“[It matters to me,]” Jehan says. “[ _And_ Bahorel. Courf, he’s really upset about what happened. So am I! We never noticed that you weren’t happy, and he feels like shit about that. I hate this.]”

“[I know,]” Courfeyrac says. “[So do I, but you have to admit that we’re better off apart. Marius and Cosette are so good for me, I’ve been feeling so much happier, and, be honest, flower, we weren’t ever going to last.]”

He knows he has misspoken almost immediately, as Jehan freezes up, and suddenly his gaze is like ice. “[We weren’t?]” he demands. “[So, the last two years were just, what, a way to pass the time?]”

His words are sharp and cutting, and Courfeyrac flounders to fix his mistake. “[No, Jehan, I-]”

“[I can’t believe you,]” Jehan gasps. “[We thought you _loved_ us!]”

“[I _did_ ,]” Courfeyrac says, weakly.

“[Oh, leave me alone,]” Jehan spits out, and then shoves him away.

Courfeyrac feels sick as he watches Jehan walk away from him. Sick and helpless.

-

Stalking away angrily, Jehan feels horribly upset. He didn’t just lose a boyfriend in the breakup – he lost one of his closest friends. The newfound animosity between himself, Courfeyrac, and Courfeyrac’s new partners makes Jehan feel sick. Especially when he thinks about hating Marius and Cosette. It’s unbearable.

Even so, every time he sees them together, it fills him with anger. The way Courfeyrac so readily dropped them and moved on is just… agonising. That’s what it is: agonising.

He continues on to the showers, like he meant to. The hot water is soothing and washes away his tears before they can leave a mark.

He’s not in there for long before the door creaks open and someone comes into the room. He hears them stop near his closed door.

“[Flower?]” Bahorel’s voice calls out into the shower room. “[Are you in here?]”

Quickly, Jehan shuts off the water, wraps a towel around himself, and opens the door. Bahorel’s eyes are kind, but sad when he looks at him.

“[Courf said you two got into a fight.]”

Jehan just nods. He walks over to the side where he left his clothes and his hairbrush, and starts to untangle the knots in his hair as he stairs into the mirror.

“[He seemed pretty upset.]”

Jehan hums, in a way that shows how uninterested he is. How little he cares. (It’s a lie. He cares so much he thinks his heart might burn up.)

“[I think you should forgive him.]”

“[I don’t _want_ to forgive him!]” Jehan bursts out, suddenly rounding on Bahorel. “[He moved on from us like we meant nothing!]”

“[Sweetheart,]” Bahorel says, softly, “[Courfeyrac didn’t mean to hurt us.]”

“[That doesn’t change the fact that he _did_ hurt us,]” Jehan protests.

Bahorel’s face softens, and he reaches out to gently caress Jehan’s face. “[I know, love. I know.]” His thumb brushes across Jehan’s cheekbone, tenderly.

Jehan closes his eyes for a moment, and then takes a step forward and sinks into Bahorel’s waiting embrace. “[I just… I really loved him, you know?]”

“[Me too,]” Bahorel says. “[Go talk to him. Go _listen_ to him. I’ve already made my peace with him. We were together too long to stop being friends now – he means too much to us.]”

Jehan nods, weakly, face buried in Bahorel’s shoulder.

-

Jehan finds Courfeyrac in the library, staring at the wall instead of reading the book in front of him. He’s clearly pretending to study, but not getting much done.

“[Hey, Tigger,]” Jehan says, sitting down next to Courfeyrac, who continues to stare at nothing.

He replies, “[I’m pretty sure you’re meant to say ‘hey tiger’.]”

“[Tigger suits you better,]” Jehan points out.

“[I resent that.]”

There’s a long pause. Quietly, Jehan says, “[Sorry.]”

Courfeyrac nods. “[Yeah.]” He sighs and turns to face Jehan. The edges of his eyes are red, and there are visible tear tracks down his cheeks. “[You know I loved you, right? Part of me still does.]”

Jehan nods. He shuffles closer, pressing their sides together.

Silence spreads between them, filled only by the sound of their breathing.

Eventually, Courfeyrac says, “[They make me happy,]” in a quiet voice.

“[Yeah?]” Jehan asks, glancing at him with a smile that’s almost there.

“[Yeah,]” Courfeyrac confirms.

“[I suppose that’s good enough for me,]” Jehan says. He looks down at his knees and smiles.

“[Friends?]”

“[Friends.]”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo ik this features literally no enjolras grantaire whatsoever and that's what y'all are here for but i promise you i've written a thousand words of the next chapter already and it's e/r af :)
> 
> anyway i needed to give these guys closure and it's really helped with getting me writing again (i even wrote an entire combeferre/eponine wedding fic last night! i'm doing good) so the next chapter really shouldn't be that far away and we're going to be back to grantaire's POV
> 
> i hope you're all doing fabby and not too mad at me for how slow i keep being w these updates i swear i'm not doing it on purpose
> 
> and hey come talk to me on tumblr @nerds-are-cool if you want or give me a nudge if i start taking too long i have a tag (/tagged/fluent-in-you) for this fic too if that's something u like


	27. Paranoia Is In Bloom

With exams so close, Grantaire spends less and less time with his boyfriend. His boyfriend that he thinks he could fall in love with. His boyfriend that he thinks he _is_ falling in love with. It’s alarming and completely ridiculous, and Grantaire finds that he is quite grateful for the time apart spent studying and preparing for his art and music exams.

Though he does relish his time spent with Enjolras, sneaking around so as not to arouse suspicion in their friends as to the true nature of their relationship, he realises that he needs to spend some time away from him too.

He has no idea what he is doing: Enjolras, beautiful Enjolras, lives here, in France; Grantaire, forgetful Grantaire, lives far away, in America.

Every time he thinks about the end of the school year, it becomes hard for Grantaire to think straight.

So he buries himself in making sure that his art project is perfect, practicing his final piece so that the exam will go without a single mistake, and spending every other spare moment in the music rooms, meticulously going over his pieces.

Joly finds him like this, sitting on the floor, scowling at sheets of paper in the music room. “R,” his friend says, frowning in concern. “It’s been half-term for three hours now, you can take a break.”

Grantaire doesn’t even look up at him. “This still isn’t right,” he complains.

“The exams not for twelve weeks,” Joly says. “And don’t try to tell me otherwise,” he then adds, “Chetta’s in your class. I know when your exam is.”

Sighing, Grantaire finally looks up from his sheets. “I don’t feel like taking a break,” he says.

“Just for a few days,” Joly suggests. “Then you can play to your hearts content. Just come spend some time with us all, we’ve hardly seen you since E’s party.”

 Grantaire kneels up, pushing his hair out of his eyes and look up at Joly. “What do you have in mind?”

Joly smiles and says, “We thought we’d go swimming.”

Considering this, Grantaire pauses. “That… sounds nice,” he admits.

“Exactly,” Joly says, with a grin. “So, come on! Bossuet already has your swimming things, let’s go!”

Grantaire rolls his eyes, even as he starts to gather up his sheets and paper-clip them all together. Slotting them back into their place on the bookshelf, alongside Éponine and Musichetta and the others’ works, Grantaire gets ready to leave. Behind him, Joly taps his foot impatiently.

“[Christ,]” Grantaire says. “I’m coming.”

“[Well get a move on,]” Joly replies.

Their steps start off even as they walk in the direction of the pool house, but they keep catching each other’s eyes, and Joly’s giggling is infections, and they can’t help but speed up, and when they reach the home stretch, they’re both sprinting flat out, breathless from running and laughing at the same time, and they crash into the changing rooms. Grantaire has tears in his eyes from his laughter, and Joly collapses onto the floor, laughing.

Bossuet’s leaning against the wall in his swimming trunks, looking at them with dry amusement. “[What are you doing?]” he asks. He only speaks French to Grantaire now. Says it’s good for him. Plus he detests speaking English. Fuck that language, as he says.

Stubbornly, Grantaire replies in English. “Racing,” he says.

Bossuet rolls his eyes. “[Get changed; Chetta and Floréal are already in the pool.]”

Grantaire beams.

It’s so much fun, being with his friends. (Arguably, his best friends.) They’re all so wonderful, and some days it’s hard to resent his parents, because at least their hatred of him brought him to these beautiful people.

Musichetta’s the best at handstands underwater, Grantaire learns, though she can’t do a forwards roll to save her life. Joly doesn’t like being underwater, the lack of air makes him uncomfortable, but he’s faster than the others can dream of being. Bossuet’s speciality is dive-bombs, but he has remarkably good form when diving too, surprisingly. Floréal’s just generally excellent in the water, and can hold her breath for an alarmingly long time. Grantaire suspects that she’s part siren. She’s beautiful enough to be.

Grantaire’s attempting to teach Musichetta just how to do a forwards roll underwater – she keeps getting water up her nose, but doesn’t seem to have the coordination to hold her nose and spin – when Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac arrive. They look surprised to see the pool already in use, and Grantaire blushes bright red when Enjolras’ gaze fixes on him. He manages a smile and a wave, as Joly swims over to them, climbing out and throwing his sopping wet arms around Combeferre in a hug.

Floréal excitedly jumps up and down, waving at her boyfriend, and Combeferre grins back. Shaking off Joly – the octopus – he sits on the side and slides into the pool in a very sensible manner.

As Grantaire watches, Courfeyrac says something quietly to Enjolras, and Enjolras bursts out laughing, before shoving him and diving into the pool. It makes a smile grace Grantaire’s features for a moment, until Musichetta tugs on his arm, dragging his attention back to her and the underwater forwards rolls lessons. He rolls his eyes at her and goes back to explaining just how to fold her body inwards and how to jump into it.

“Don’t think about the fact that you’ll be upside down underwater,” he says. “Just throw yourself into it and be damned with the consequences.”

She grins, but her eyes are still uncertain when she looks at the water. “I want to be able to do it,” she tells him.

“I know,” he replies.

“I just… panic?”

Grantaire smiles at her reassuringly, and his eyes unintentionally drift over to where Courfeyrac and Enjolras are treading water and laughing at something one of the same. “Me too,” he tells Musichetta, focusing back on her. “Watch me do it, then you have a go.”

He throws himself headfirst into the water, tucking his body in and scrunching his eyes closed. He lands on his feet, pushing himself up out of the water, breaking the surface with a grin on his face.

Musichetta calls him a show-off, and then takes a determined breath before throwing herself into the roll. And is successful.

Grantaire bursts into applause and loud cheering as soon as she breaches the surface, and she splutters water out of her mouth and nose. Their combined ruckus attracts the attention of the other pool-goers, but neither of them pay them any heed, as Grantaire’s celebrating that he taught her and that she managed it, and Musichetta is caught between coughing her lungs out and being thrilled with herself for finally managing it.

She hurls herself at Grantaire, wrapping both her arms and legs around him as he jumps up and down, yelling happily. “Yes!” Grantaire shouts. “You did it! I knew you could, you marvellous girl!”

Musichetta lets out a wordless sound of happiness, quickly followed by, “We did it!”

That’s when Bossuet chooses to say, “[I fucking hope not. That’s my girlfriend you American bastard,]” in a dry tone.

Both Musichetta and Grantaire roll their eyes at him simultaneously, causing Joly to choke on his laughter.

“[What did you do?]” Bossuet asks, then, a smile creeping onto his face.

“[I did a forwards roll underwater!]” Musichetta tells them, ecstatically.

Joly pulls a face, but then says, “[Congratulations. You shall go down in history for this momentous achievement.]”

She sticks her tongue out at him in return and he leans in to kiss her cheek.

“[I’m very proud of you, Chetta,]” he says.

Bossuet laughs and says, “[I fucking love you guys.]” Then his face pales as the other two turn to stare at him, wide-eyed shock on both of their faces.

Grantaire still has Musichetta wrapped around him, and he quickly pries her arms and legs off him as he mumbles, “So… I’m going to be over there,” very quickly and takes off swimming in Floréal and Combeferre’s direction as fast as he can. He still hears Musichetta say, awe in her voice, “[You love us?]” He swims with more splashing to give them a little privacy.

Reaching Floréal and Combeferre, he engages them in a loud conversation about how much he loves swimming, sighing in relief when Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta all climb out of the pool and hurry off for the changing rooms.

Combeferre and Floréal are giving him an odd look, and he groans and says, “I was accidentally there when Bossuet said the ‘L’ word.”

Combeferre grins and says, “Lesbian?”

Grantaire immediately cracks a smile and says, “The other ‘L’ word.”

“ _Lesbians_?” Combeferre asks, before laughing. “Good for them,” he then says, smiling in the direction that they went.

-

Grantaire doesn’t leave the pool until he’s starving, finally heaving himself onto the side and looking out at his friends that are still in the pool. Enjolras notices him going and swims over, pushing himself up on his arms and getting out too.

“You going back to the school?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Grantaire replies. “I might raid the kitchen – I’m starving.”

Enjolras grins. “Count me in.”

They leave together, ignoring Courfeyrac’s whines of protest.

Once in the changing room, they quickly shower and towel off, pulling on their clothes without looking at each other at all. Enjolras must know that Grantaire’s been avoiding him. It’s clear as day.

When they’re sitting at the large wooden table in the kitchen, Enjolras picking a bread bun apart and dipping it into his vegetable soup, and Grantaire eating some baking chocolate he found, because it’s sweet and he couldn’t be bothered to make anything proper, Enjolras brings it up.

Grantaire can tell just before he does that he’s going to by the way he puts the bread down and pushes the half-eaten bowl of soup away from him, and he tries to prepare himself for the conversation by taking a deep breath. It doesn’t help much.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Enjolras says. It’s straightforward.

Grantaire blushes. “Yeah.”

Enjolras asks, “Why?”

Grantaire shrugs. Then he sighs. Suddenly he can’t look at Enjolras, and he doesn’t have the faintest idea why. “I- Um, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and-”

“Please don’t break up with me,” Enjolras interrupts. His voice is almost a whisper and sounds rushed. Grantaire looks up sharply, to find that Enjolras’ eyes are wide and his face is pale. He looks like he might start crying if Grantaire ends things with him, and Grantaire is not equipped to deal with his boyfriend on the verge of tears over something this absurd. “Is this about the fact that I don’t want to tell people? I’m sorry; if that’s making you unhappy I’ll tell the whole school. Grantaire, I-”

“Enjolras, calm down. I’m not going to break up with you.” He takes hold of Enjolras’ hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’ve been thinking about the fact that when the school year ends, I go back to America.”

“[Shit, Grantaire,]” Enjolras says. “You’ve been avoiding me because you’re scared about the future?” His hands frame Grantaire’s face, and Grantaire doesn’t even think to look around to see if anyone is watching them. “You have to talk to me about things like this, R. Fuck the future, we live right here, right now. I decided that I wasn’t going to give a damn about what might happen when you go back to America, because it would be worth it to have you for these few months.”

Enjolras’ eyes are so full of expression, and his jawline is tense with worry.

“Fuck the future,” Grantaire says, softly.

His words bring a soft smile to Enjolras’ lips. “[Exactly.]” He leans across the table and presses a kiss to Grantaire’s lips. “[Grantaire, you’re stuck with me, okay? I spent too much time panicking about this for us to get scared and back out now. I care about you too much for that.]”

Grantaire blinks. Enjolras is barely centimetres away, and his face is full of honesty. “I care about you, too,” Grantaire manages to say, so that he doesn’t accidentally blurt out that he’s falling in love with this ridiculous French boy.

Enjolras sits back in his seat, beaming at Grantaire, seemingly uncontrollably.

Combeferre walks into the kitchen. He pauses for a second when he sees them, and then smiles. “I’m just getting a snack,” he tells them.

Grantaire nods and breaks off another cube of baking chocolate as Enjolras goes back to sipping his soup. Combeferre grabs a yogurt out of the fridge and then a spoon from the drawer. He gives Enjolras and Grantaire a once over with his eyes, sight catching on what Grantaire is eating. He turns away for a moment, standing on his tiptoes to reach into a cupboard high up. He then hands the bar of chocolate he pulled out to Grantaire and says, “It’ll be nicer than the baking chocolate,” with a gentle smile.

Grantaire thanks him quietly.

Combeferre heads for the doorway. He stops, just before he goes, turns back, mouth opening as if to say something. But then he closes his mouth and looks at them for a long moment. He shakes his head, more to himself than to them, and then he leaves.

Enjolras catches Grantaire’s eye, and smiles, gently.

-

Finally, Grantaire returns to his bedroom, falling onto his bed and grinning at the ceiling, thinking only of Enjolras.

Because of this, he doesn’t notice the rain pounding on his bedroom window. He does, however, see the lightning when it illuminates his bedroom. It’s late – everyone went to bed hours ago, even Enjolras is asleep now, Grantaire having snuck back to his own bedroom after his boyfriend started to snore quietly.

As the lightning flashes, Grantaire flinches, and he feels unbearably unsafe and alone. Thunder rolls in the distance, and suddenly his room feels much too small. Faced with the fear, he feels a rush of adrenaline, and he shoves his way out of his bed and sprints into the hallway, slamming his door behind him and crumpling to the floor. It’s almost pitch-black in the hallway, as there are no windows, but light creeps out from under a few doorways.

After a few minutes of heavy breathing and sitting with his eyes tight shut, he hears one of the doors open, and a gentle voice ask, “Grantaire?”

Even in the hallway, he can still hear the thunder. He grips his arms tight and flinches at the loud rumble.

Someone sits down next to him and gently touches his arm.

“It’s okay,” they say. “You’re safe.” There’s a pause. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” The person vanishes, and Grantaire hears a door open and close. And then open and close again. They’re back, and this time Grantaire peeks between his lashes to see them.

Combeferre sits in front of him, smiling reassuringly, holding something tightly in his hands. “Do you trust me?” he asks.

Grantaire nods, and Combeferre holds up the items in his hands. It’s his phone, his headphones, and an eye mask.

“Can I put these on you?” he asks.

Grantaire looks at the items closely.

“The eye mask stops you from seeing the lightning, and the music stops you from hearing the thunder,” he explains.

Grantaire nods again. He can’t bring himself to speak. Combeferre takes his hands and helps him to his feet. Gently, he guides him towards Combeferre’s room, and they quickly head inside.

Maintaining eye contact, Combeferre carefully puts him on the bed, and then positions the eye mask over his eyes. “Just keep breathing,” Combeferre says. “Would you like me to get Enjolras?”

Grantaire shakes his head. Then nods.

“Okay,” Combeferre says, and then he puts the earbuds into Grantaire’s ears and presses play on his phone.

Grantaire manages a smile as he recognises the beginning of _Muse’s_ ‘ _Uprising_ ’. He leans back against the wall, unable to see or hear anything but darkness and the sound of music. He doesn’t even know if Combeferre is still there.

Two songs play through before he feels the bed dip near him and someone pulls an earbud out of his ear.

“It’s me,” Enjolras whispers. “I’ve got you.” He puts the earbud back in, and guides Grantaire down so that they’re lying on Combeferre’s bed comfortable. Enjolras lies behind him, arms wrapped tightly around him.

Grantaire shuts his eyes tight, even with the eye mask, and feels tears decorating his eyelashes. His hands find Enjolras’ around his waist and rest on top of them. He buries back into Enjolras’ hold and tries to forget about the storm raging outside.

He can feel Enjolras’ steady breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, and Grantaire slowly drifts off to sleep, lulled by the constant and stable movement.

-

When he wakes up, he no longer has the earbuds in his ears, and the eye mask is gone too. Enjolras is still there, however. Grantaire gently pulls away a little to look into Enjolras’ already awake eyes.

“Hey,” Enjolras says. His voice is careful.

Grantaire manages a, “Hey,” in return. Then he says, “I think Combeferre knows about us.”

Enjolras laughs a little at that. “I think you might be right.”

Grantaire murmurs an apology for giving it away, and Enjolras tells him not to be silly, pulling him closer and getting them both comfortable on Combeferre’s bed again.

“It’s early,” Enjolras says. “Try and get some more sleep. We’ll talk to Combeferre later.”

Grantaire can’t think of any reason to stay away, and he really is tired after the late night, the fear, and the crying. He curls around Enjolras, smiles at the feel of Enjolras pressing a kiss into his tangled hair, and soon falls asleep again.

God, he’s so in love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i said this wouldn't take long and it took thirteen days sorry that's nearly tWO WEEKS. i have my reasons: i decided that i didn't want to put what i'd written at this part of the fic so where i had a half-written chapter, i suddenly didn't and had to write a whole new chapter. not to mention work has been hectic and i'm exhausted aahhhh sorry sorry my excuses are lame af after all i also marathoned sense8 and read like three books so okay there may have been a bit of procrastination too
> 
> anyway i hope you liked this i wanted to do some more about r's friendships especially with joly and bossuet because their relationship in the brick makes me smile and musichetta just comes along with that in most aus lets be real hahaa and then i promised "exr af" in the last end note so i did my best to deliver even if i did scrap the initial "exr af" scene that i wrote haha 
> 
> hope you are all doing wonderfully at any rate - you're all gems for reading this and putting up with my late deliveries <3
> 
> (also at this rate we have at LEAST ten more chapters to go god help us all)


	28. Someone I Love Threw Me Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ:
> 
> This is the chapter where Enjolras talks about what happened between him and his mother. I'm going to put the potential triggers and things that some people might want to be careful about in the end notes so that others won't get spoilered for exactly what happened.
> 
> If you feel that there could be something in this chapter that could cause you harm, please, read the warnings, and take care reading it.
> 
> It is very clear when they start talking about it, and it is all at the end of the chapter with nothing plot-wise following it. If you don't want to read it, it will be very easy for you to skip it. If this is the choice you make, all you need to know is that Enjolras tells Grantaire what happened, and Grantaire comforts him.
> 
> Otherwise, I hope you enjoy this chapter - it isn't ALL sad.

It hadn’t worked. Grantaire thought he’d had this brilliant idea for his final piece in art, but when he’d tried it out, it had turned into a horrible mess, and now he’s standing looking down at it, with his art teacher tutting next to him, feeling like he’s about to cry.

“[It’s not _bad_ ,]” Madame Leclair says, generously. Grantaire can tell she’s disappointed. She purses her lips. “[We can fix it,]” she says, decisively. “[Okay, this is very blurry and lacking real definition, which is a problem. We want this clean and sharp, because that’s what everything else in your project is. To suddenly have a piece that is the polar opposite would be… disastrous to your final grade.]”

Grantaire nods along to her words, trying to take it in, but all he can see is his failing. There’s a lump in his throat.

“[Talk me through what went wrong,]” his teacher says. So Grantaire does. He explains how the colours just started to blend, and how the prints at that area just didn’t work, and how everything just fell apart completely. He ends up shrugging, feeling defeated.

Half-term passed far too quickly, and Grantaire didn’t get enough work done. His friends kept talking him into going into town, playing a game of cards, going swimming, and once, with Jehan, going for a walk across the school grounds. They spent an entire day doing that.

It’s Sunday now, and lessons start up again tomorrow, and Grantaire isn’t ready.

“[I really thought it would work,]” he tells her.

She pulls the sheet of paper towards her, peering down at it through her glasses. “[It still could.]”

“[I need to take a break,]” he says, after a long moment of staring at the sheet of failed artwork. She just nods, humming a little, and then she wanders away, over to where a younger student is working.

Quickly, Grantaire packs everything into his folder, forcing his eyes to stay clear and the lump in his throat to disappear. He all but runs from the art room.

By the time he reaches the girls’ common room, tears are blurring his vision, and the memory of that shitty excuse for art is at the forefront of his mind. The art exam is five weeks away, and he still barely has a plan.

Grantaire throws himself down onto the sofa in the common room and buries his face into a pillow.

He hears footsteps, followed by a female voice making an intrigued sound, and then someone sits on his legs. “Everything okay?” Musichetta asks, her faint American accent soft and comforting.

“No,” Grantaire says. “Everything sucks. I hate art, I hate speaking French all the damn time, and I hate me.” A hand is suddenly petting Grantaire’s hair, and Grantaire lets out a soft whine. “Chetta, fix things,” he implores her.

“Sorry, kiddo,” she replies. “Not everything is fixable. How about you sit up and tell me what happened, and then I’ll give it my best shot. We can even talk in English.”

“We already are,” Grantaire says, and then wriggles his legs so that she’ll move, allowing him to sit up. He immediately curls up in her waiting arms. “My art sucks,” he tells her.

“That’s not true,” she replies. “I know it doesn’t.”

“It _does_. I fucked up. The exam is so soon and I don’t even have a plan.”

She resumes her petting. “What did Madame Leclair say?”

“That I suck,” Grantaire says, resolutely. Then he sighs and admits, “She said it might still work.”

“That’s good,” Musichetta says. “So not all hope is lost.”

“Not all hope is lost,” Grantaire echoes, tiredly.

They sit in silence for a while, as Musichetta pets Grantaire’s hair and makes quiet soothing noises, and Grantaire tries to think about anything but art for a while. Unfortunately for him, his current thoughts consist of art, music, or Enjolras. That’s all he is these days. He sighs.

“Grantaire?” Musichetta asks, with a voice that suggests she’s leading up to something.

“Yep?” he asks.

She pauses. “Can I give you a makeover?”

He turns his head to look at her. “You want to put makeup on me?” he asks. She nods. He considers it for a moment, and then decides, “Why the fuck not? Let’s do this.”

Musichetta beams at him. “Wait here,” she tells him, and then jumps off the sofa.

When she comes back she’s carrying a giant mirror from her bedroom, and a grey box that’s about the size of Grantaire’s torso. She leans the mirror up against the wall, and sits by it, patting the floor in front of her for Grantaire to join her.

First, Musichetta wipes his face with her cleansing wipes, and Grantaire just lets her do it. Then she moves on to the foundation. She rummages through her box, and then frowns. “Shit,” she says.

“What?” Grantaire asks.

She gestures at her skin. “I’m black.”

Grantaire frowns. “So am I, kinda,” he says, not understanding what the problem is.

“No,” Musichetta says. “You’re biracial and your skin is _pale_ , even so. Our skin tones are _nothing_ alike.”

Grantaire quickly thinks about all the girls they know, and mentally tries to work out whose skin tone he’s most similar too. “Éponine?” he suggests.

Musichetta’s face lights up and she leaps to her feet, sprinting back towards the bedroom.

She comes back with Éponine and Éponine’s makeup box too. Grantaire can’t believe how much makeup these girls own.

Éponine does his foundation, and then Musichetta and she work together to add bronzer and concealer to contour his face. Whatever _that_ means. He will admit that it makes his cheekbones look incredible.

“How are your eyebrows already so nice?” Éponine asks, peering at them, eyebrow pencil in hand.

Grantaire smirks and gives a half-shrug. “Good genetics?”

“Fuck, you’re attractive,” Musichetta muses.

Grantaire outright grins at that, still trying to keep his eyebrows still as Éponine sets to colouring them. “Hell yeah, I am.”

They’ve moved on to lipstick, all three of them trying to decide the best colour for him when Cosette and Floréal walk in. They stop dead when they see the trio on the floor. Cosette wolf-whistles, while Floréal’s jaw drops.

After that, Grantaire sort of loses track of what’s happening.

One thing leads to another and now Grantaire’s wearing a pair of Éponine’s heels and one of Floréal’s flouncy skirts to go with his new makeup. (The girls had decided that he was too broad-shouldered to fit any of their tops, and besides, the shirt he has on isn’t too shabby.)

At first he’d refused the skirt – it barely covers his ass and he’s not sure how comfortable he is with that – but then he got curious and accepted it, trading his skinny jeans for the mini-skirt.

Even he has to admit to himself, the heels do wondrous things for his calves and ass.

“What– What are you doing?” Enjolras voice sounds out from behind the group.

Grantaire spins round from where he was admiring himself in the mirror – the whole group does in fact – and grins. He’s not going to admit it, but the way Enjolras is gaping, clearly more than a little flustered, is very flattering. “Don’t you think I look _good_ , Enjolras?” he asks, pouting just a little, blatantly teasing Enjolras.

The girls all snigger, and Enjolras makes an odd noise as he flounders for words. “Wh- Why are you dressed like that?” Enjolras manages. He’s very wide-eyed, and Grantaire takes that as a compliment, really.

“I think it was Floréal’s idea,” Grantaire says with a cheeky grin. “I’ve never worn heels before; it sure is a learning process.”

“Yes,” Enjolras says dryly, seeming to come back to himself. “This is _not_ the conversation I came here to have,” he tells Grantaire, making Éponine wolf-whistle while Cosette giggles. Enjolras pulls a face at them, which makes Grantaire laugh in turn.

“What conversation _did_ you come here to have?” Grantaire asks him, raising an eyebrow.

“A private one,” Enjolras says, meaningfully.

Rolling his eyes at his secret-boyfriend, Grantaire says, “Fine, just let me get changed.”

Enjolras just manages a nod.

Grantaire unzips the skirt where he is. In this room, there are only girls in relationships, Éponine, and his boyfriend. It really doesn’t matter if they see him in his underwear. He then steps out of both the heels and the skirt, feeling his height drop rapidly, and then he tugs on his skinny jeans quickly. He picks up his socks and shoves them into his pocket, and grabs his shoes.

He stops to give Musichetta a kiss on the cheek for doing such a good job at taking his mind off things, and then gives a quick wave to the other girls, before following Enjolras out into the hallway.

Enjolras doesn’t say anything, he just starts walking to their own common room.

He doesn’t stop in the common room, either, however, and he ignores Feuilly and Bahorel when they attempt to draw him into a discussion about the existence of free will in a religious environment.

When they’re finally alone, sitting on Grantaire’s bed, Enjolras starts fiddling with his hands, anxiously. Something’s wrong. Grantaire sets one of his own on top of them to steady him. “Is everything alright?” he asks.

Enjolras nods. Then shakes his head. Then, finally, he shrugs. “It’s my dad’s birthday, tomorrow,” he tells Grantaire.

“Oh,” Grantaire says, a little surprised. He really hadn’t been expecting that.

“I’m going to visit him,” Enjolras then says. He can’t seem to make eye-contact with Grantaire. “I’d like for you to come with me.”

Grantaire’s silent for a moment, letting this sink in. “Wow,” he says. “Enj, I’d be honoured.”

Enjolras shoots him a small smile. “I usually go alone,” he says. “Combeferre and Courfeyrac came once. I want- I want to introduce you to my dad. As- As my boyfriend. Supposedly he can hear me. That’s what people say, anyway.”

Grantaire gives Enjolras’ hand a squeeze. “Thank you,” he says, softly. “It means a lot that you feel secure enough with me to take me to see him.”

Enjolras smiles again, but it’s only a quiet smile. A barely-there smile. It breaks Grantaire’s heart. He leans in and gives Enjolras a kiss on the forehead, chuckling softly when he pulls away and there’s a red kiss-mark from the lipstick that he’d forgetting he was wearing.

Enjolras gives him a confused look, so Grantaire says, “Your forehead’s all red now,” tapping his lips with one finger.

Enjolras grins. “I like it,” he tells Grantaire. “The makeup looks good on you.”

“Took forever, though,” Grantaire says. “If our girls go through this every day, then I have a newfound respect for them.”

“Parnasse does too,” Enjolras says, with a slight laugh. “Have you never seen him do his morning and night routines?”

Grantaire shakes his head. “No, what’s it like?”

“Absurd,” Enjolras laughs. “He looks really good though, so I suppose it’s worth it.”

Grantaire smiles at his boyfriend. “You look just fine without it,” he tells Enjolras.

“You look wonderful either way,” is Enjolras’ response.

Enjolras is smiling again, properly now, the sadness of the conversation fading.

-

The next day when lessons end, the pair set off. Enjolras wasn’t in lessons at all, and Grantaire spent most of his worrying about Enjolras.

Grantaire doesn’t like hospitals. He has no reason not to like them – nothing bad has ever happened to him or his family. He just doesn’t like them. They smell funny, and people stare a lot. It’s disconcerting.

Today, however, Grantaire barely spares it a second thought. All his thoughts are occupied by the way Enjolras’ shoulders are too tense, and the way his face is pale and pinched.

He slips a hand into Enjolras’.

They stand by Enjolras’ father’s hospital bed.

“[Hey, dad,]” Enjolras says. “[This is Grantaire. He’s my boyfriend. I wanted you to meet him.]” He turns to Grantaire, and, with a sad look on his face, he says, “[R, this is my dad, Pierre.]”

Grantaire gives Enjolras’ hand a squeeze. “[It’s a pleasure to meet you, Pierre,]” he says to the sleeping figure on the hospital bed. “[Your son is a wonderful man.]”

That makes Enjolras chuckle a little, but it sounds breathy and not completely full of humour. Grantaire guides him into a chair, and pulls on up for himself. Enjolras takes his father’s hand, possibly hoping to feel something beyond the limpness of his limbs.

Grantaire keeps hold of Enjolras’ other hand.

Enjolras starts to talk after a moment of silence, and Grantaire just lets himself listen as Enjolras tells his father about everything that’s happened since he last saw him. Enjolras talks about Grantaire quite a bit, prompting Grantaire to share a little about himself, but he doesn’t really know what to say.

Conversations can be difficult when only one side is speaking.

-

Later, they sit on a bench outside the hospital. Grantaire sips his white coffee. Enjolras plays with the sleeve of his jacket, fingers tugging at a loose thread. “I’d like to tell you what happened,” Enjolras says, “if you don’t mind.”

Grantaire knows how much this is going to hurt Enjolras, so he puts his coffee down and takes both of Enjolras’ hands in his own. “Enjolras, it means an awful lot to me that you are willing to do this. Would you like to go somewhere more private?”

Enjolras shakes his head. “Here’s fine,” he says. “Just… be patient. I’m not sure I can get through all of this at once.”

Grantaire nods, understandingly, and he turns properly so that his legs are crossed on the bench and he’s looking directly at Enjolras. Enjolras stays where he is, feet firmly on the ground, gaze directed at the road and the passing cars.

Enjolras says nothing. Grantaire’s eyes never leave his face.

“She never wanted me,” Enjolras says, eventually. “My parents were rich, well-admired by all their friends and the people that knew them. When she realised she was pregnant, she immediately decided she wanted an abortion. My dad wouldn’t let her. He told her she was scared, and that it would all be fine once she had me in her arms. That was the plan. She believed him, for the most part. So she kept me.

“When I was younger, I remember her fighting with my dad, and I remember her telling him that she felt nothing when she held me. No… motherly instincts, no inherent _love_ for her child. Just… apathy.”

Enjolras pulls his hands away from Grantaire’s hold and rubs at his wrist.

“Um,” he stalls. “My- My dad figured that there must be something wrong with her. He took her to all these therapists and doctors. Ones at the top of their fields. They were supposed to be able to fix her. Or at least tell us what was wrong. They diagnosed her with depression and schizotypal personality disorder. I think they just wanted something to tell my dad. I researched those mental disorders and they just… weren’t it. I knew that.

“Sometimes I thought that maybe there wasn’t anything wrong with her. Maybe not all mothers love their children. She _never_ wanted me.

“Even so, they put her on all sorts of meds. I was nine when she started having an affair with her phsycopharmacologist. My dad eventually found out and it was awful. She blamed him for everything. In a way, I did too. He forced her to keep me. It kind of was his fault.”

“Enjolras…” Grantaire breathes, not knowing what else to say.

Enjolras ignores him, rushing on. “No one knew what to do with her. I was passed from carer to carer as my dad spent all his time trying to find a ‘cure’ for my mother. He told me that she wasn’t the woman he fell in love with, once. I didn’t have a reply for that then, and I still don’t.

“When I was eleven she attempted to kill my father and me. She drugged us both so that we were unconscious. She slit my father’s wrists and left him to bleed out. He lost so much blood. He’s been in a coma ever since.

“I took about a week to wake up. She hadn’t harmed me, beyond drugging me. She gave me a much higher dose than she did my father, though. We think that was meant to kill me.”

Enjolras takes a deep breath. “We- We don’t know who called the ambulance. There was no one else in the house. I should be dead. I don’t know who saved my life.” A tear rolls down his cheek, and finally he turns to look at Grantaire, face on. “R, I don’t know who saved me. It’s- It _tortures_ me, not knowing who I should be thanking for my life.”

Grantaire just maintains the eye-contact, and lets Enjolras gasp in lungfuls of air as the tears start to flood his eyes. Quietly, Grantaire says, “It doesn’t matter to me who, Enjolras. I’m just so thankful that you’re still here.”

Enjolras nods. He leans in and their foreheads press together. There’s an awful lump in Grantaire’s throat, a pain in his chest, and he feels so close to breaking down like Enjolras. He has to stay strong for him, though. He has to.

“I’m so thankful,” Grantaire repeats. And then he starts to cry.

Their arms wrap around each other at the same time, and Enjolras ends up almost sitting in Grantaire’s knee as they cling to each other.  Enjolras sucks in a deep breath, face buried in Grantaire’s shoulder, and he tries to continue his tale.

“They caught my mum. It was like she didn’t even try to cover it up. There was reasonable suspicion with her medical history as it was, but she had no chance really, considering the fact that our security cameras surrounding our house caught her leaving with blood still on her hands and clothes. No one else was seen leaving that night and we were alone in the house.

“They arrested her. She was sentenced to ten years in prison for first-degree attempted murder.” He takes a deep breath and clings tighter to Grantaire. “I had to testify against her in court. They had a pretty good case without me, but with my dad unable to, the lawyer told me it would help to get her, well, put away. That was the worst part. I had to decide, without my dad there, that my mum should go to prison. I hated myself for doing that to her for a long time.”

“God,” Grantaire murmurs. “You were only a child.” He can feel Enjolras’ tears soaking through his shirt. In this moment, Enjolras still is that child.

Grantaire pulls back to look Enjolras in the eye. “Enjolras, you mean so fucking much to me, and I’m so proud of you. I’m so proud that you are who you are despite everything that’s happened to you.”

He speaks clearly, so there’s no room for doubt that he doesn’t mean what he says. He can see it in Enjolras’ eyes that he understands. “Thank you, Grantaire,” Enjolras says. “Thank you.”

There’s not much else to say, after that. They sit in silence, wrapped in each other’s’ arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter:
> 
> \- person in a coma  
> \- lack of love from a mother to her child.  
> \- mention of depression and schizotypal personality disorder  
> \- being drugged (also a minor being drugged)  
> \- slit wrists (not self harm - instead used as a way to kill someone)
> 
>  
> 
> right. this is my normal end note now.
> 
> i'm going on holiday tomorrow and i wont have my laptop so i won't be able to write. i wanted to upload this before i went. i'll be away for a week and when i come back i'll start on the next chapter. this does mean that there is potential for it to be three weeks before you get a new chapter! i'm very sorry :(
> 
> i hope you all have a fantastic week without me anyway hahaha and i hope you enjoyed this extra long chapter even with the sadness in it.


	29. I Wish You Would

“We should talk to Combeferre.”

Enjolras’ head jerks up from the paper he’s writing on. “[What?]” he asks, startled.

“We should talk to Combeferre. About us,” Grantaire explains.

Enjolras looks back down at his work and starts writing again. “No need, I did it.”

Grantaire chokes. “You did it,” he says, flatly. “You already talked to Combeferre about our _secret_ relationship.”

“[Yes,]” Enjolras answers, distractedly. “He’s fine with both it and keeping it a secret.”

Grantaire watches Enjolras’ hand move as he continues to write his essay. He stands there, waiting for Enjolras’ attention. His fingers start tapping against his leg.

Eventually, Enjolras looks back up. “Did you want something?”

Grantaire scoffs in disbelief and says, “[No, Enjolras. Nothing at all.]” Then he turns around and walks away, seething internally. The thing is, he knows Enjolras didn’t mean anything by it. He knows full well that Enjolras doesn’t understand that he’s done something wrong.

As he leaves the common room, he bumps into Feuilly, who’s humming quietly, and Feuilly’s face lights up. “I was looking for you! I’m heading over to the art rooms to do some catch up. Three weeks left, and all that. I was hoping you’d come.” Feuilly smiles at Grantaire brightly.

Grantaire pauses and says, “Oh, um, yeah, sure, thanks. We should probably grab Floréal as well,” he says, thoughtfully.”

Feuilly grins. “Good idea. She’s probably in the girls’ common room, right?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire agrees, feeling a little haywire, jumping straight from an almost-argument with Enjolras into a friendly conversation with Feuilly.

They do, in fact, find Floréal in her common room. She’s napping on one of the sofas, and Grantaire laughs before kneeling down beside her to shake her awake.

Blinking, Floréal groans awake and bats at his face, tiredly. “[What?]” she demands, screwing her face up as she tries to wake herself. 

“Floréal, Feuilly just asked if I wanted to do some art catch up with him, do you want to-? Wait- Shit, her, I meant her, sorry- Fuck-”

“You know what I’m going to do?” Feuilly interrupts him, sounding musing. “I’m going to buy a badge, that says, ‘it’s okay, I know you didn’t mean to misgender me’, so that you losers can stop having a freak out when you accidentally say him instead of her or vice versa.”

Grantaire flushes, a little embarrassed, but Feuilly just winks at him with a sly grin, and he looks back at Floréal, who’s giggling at Grantaire’s minor panic.

“Yes, I’ll come, too,” Floréal says, stretching her arms up above her head. She then jumps to her feet, smoothing down her slightly rumpled skirt.

As they head down the corridor towards the art rooms, Feuilly says, “Or perhaps I should get badges that say she/her or he/him…”

Grantaire shoves her gently. “Fuck off,” he says, and Feuilly grins at him.

“I’m sorry,” she says, laughing, “you’re just so rubbish at remembering pronouns, R.”

Grantaire, holding open the door for the two girls, rolls his eyes. “You do know it’s not because I don’t care, right? My memory just isn’t that good, and you always tell me the day’s pronouns before I’ve had a coffee.”

Feuilly just laughs at him, going to grab her art folder off the shelves. They all spread their art out over three tables, and then group together and stare down at it all. Floréal pulls a face and then goes to get the black paint out of the cupboard, filling a pot with water and grabbing a handful of brushes too. Once it’s all down on her table, she pulls her hair up into a ponytail and says, “[R, have you learnt your lyrics for my music exam yet?]”

“[Yes, Floréal,]” Grantaire replies, obediently, “[but we _do_ still have ten weeks for that.]”

She hums, dipping her brush into the paint. “[I know, I just need it to be perfect.]”

Grantaire sighs. “[I know what you mean. I still need to get both Cosette and Éponine together to… work out their lyrics.]”

“[Oh, you’re using them? I’ve got Courfeyrac and Musichetta helping me,]” Floréal comments, idly, as she paints. Feuilly and Grantaire are still just staring at their own work.

“[I didn’t know Courf could sing,]” Grantaire replies, as he decides that maybe looking at his work from a different angle could help and he paces round to the other side of the table, tilting his head. Feuilly glances at him with humour in her eyes. “Hey,” Grantaire says, “don’t give me that look. You’re doing no better than I am.” Feuilly shrugs, having reached the point where either it happens or it doesn’t. “[Flor, how are you so well put together?]” Grantaire asks her as she puts her brush down.

The girl shrugs. “[I’m just marvellous.]”

“That you are…” Grantaire mumbles. He picks up a sheet of paper. “What was this meant to be?”

“[That, Grantaire, is your ‘Light and Dark’ page,]” Madame Leclair’s voice sounds out from behind them, the click of her heels sounding as she walks over to them.

Grantaire pulls a face. “Huh,” he says.

“[It’s very good,]” Madame Leclair informs him.

“[Thank you,]” Grantaire replies, automatically, though he doesn’t see it.

“[What are you going to do next?]” his teacher asks, forcing him to actually think about it.

Somehow, Grantaire manages to stumble his way through a conversation filled with ideas and plans, and, without him being fully aware of it happening, Grantaire ends up sure in what he’s doing. As his teacher walks away to chat with another student, Grantaire even smiles while thinking about the upcoming exam.

“I’ve totally got this,” Grantaire says aloud.

Feuilly grins at him. “You got this,” she says, putting on an awful American accent to mimic Grantaire.

-

Over two hours later, the three of them are shooed from the art room by Mme. Leclair. “[Stop _stressing_ ,]” she’d said to them as they quickly gathered up their things, depositing sheets onto drying racks and washing up pots and brushes and tables. Feuilly has a bright red stain from her elbow to her wrist, and Floréal has a splash of blue near her ear from tucking her hair back.

Grantaire separates from them in the hall, and heads up the stairs for the common room alone. He hopes to find Enjolras there. Now, having had time apart, he’s a lot surer about what he wants to say to Enjolras. That is, he’s sure about what upset him, and why Enjolras didn’t understand.

Unfortunately, Enjolras isn’t there. He tries Enjolras’ room, too, to no avail, and he’s not lurking in Combeferre or Courfeyrac’s room, either. He decides to try the library before he enlists the help of a busy friend.

At last, he’s successful and he joins Enjolras at his table in the library. His boyfriend doesn’t even lift his head, pouring over a page in a book and scribbling notes with his left hand. Grantaire coughs to announce his presence, and Enjolras looks up and positively beams at him. He ducks in for a quick kiss and says, “How’s your day going?” before looking back at his book. He makes a quick glance up a second later to prove that he _is_ listening, and then he starts taking notes again.

“Okay, I’ve actually got something to say to you,” Grantaire starts, “but first I need to ask something.” He lowers his voice slightly. “When you told Combeferre about us and he said it was fine, was it like an, ‘I’m happy for you, Enj, it’s fine’, or was it more of a, ‘I said it was _fine_ , just drop it, everything’s cool’, kind of thing?”

Enjolras frowns at him. “Uh… I guess, more or less, the second one? Ish?”

Grantaire groans. “That’s what I thought. Okay, I’m going to go talk to Ferre.”

“I thought you had something to say?” Enjolras says.

“I do but we’ll do that later,” Grantaire promises, knowing that he needs to go fix whatever Enjolras has done. “Can I have a kiss before I go?” Grantaire asks, leaning down.

Enjolras smiles at him, and closes the distance, to give him a sweet kiss on the lips.

“Thank you,” Grantaire says. “I’ll see you later.” He ruffles Enjolras’ hair as he straightens up, and then heads off in search of Combeferre.

Finding Combeferre proves to be quite tricky, but eventually, with a little help from Montparnasse, he finds him in the kitchen with Courfeyrac. They have a tub of ice cream between them, and a spoon each, and both look a little guilty when Grantaire catches them. Grantaire simply shrugs and goes to get a spoon for himself, joining them at the table.

“So,” Grantaire says. “How bad was it?”

Combeferre smiles sadly, not bothering to pretend that he doesn’t know exactly what Grantaire is referring to. “Not as bad as it could have been,” he admits. “I really am working on being over him.”

“I know you are,” Grantaire says, “and I still really am sorry about-” He freezes. “Wait, Courf, what the hell?”

Caught out, Courfeyrac grins, sheepishly. “So…” he says, “turns out I’ve known all along?”

Grantaire rolls his eyes. “Unbelievable. Does Enj know you know?”

“Nope,” Courfeyrac tells him, popping the ‘p’ sound. “I know because Ferre told me.”

“Sorry,” Combeferre says, not really sounding sorry at all.

Sighing, Grantaire can feel himself start to smile. “It’s alright,” he says. “Feuilly knows too, but that’s because she’s astute, and not because I told her. She was drunk when she told me she knew.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac raise an eyebrow simultaneously, either a testament to how long they’ve known each other or merely a scary coincidence. Either way it makes Grantaire blink and lean back in his seat a little. “You’re both good friends with Enjolras, aren’t you?” He doesn’t quite say it like a question. “Do you ever find that he doesn’t realise he’s upset you?”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac share a knowing look. “Yes,” Courfeyrac says. “That has been known to happen.”

“What did he not realise?” Combeferre asks.

Grantaire hesitates, picking at the edge of the wooden table a little. “It’s nothing, really, and I’m not actually that mad at him… It’s just… We said we’d talk to you about ‘us’ _together_ , and then he went and did it, and didn’t even tell me that he had till I brought up talking to you.” He sighs. “It’s not even that big of a deal, but he didn’t apologise and he didn’t seem to have time for me.”

Combeferre sighs, then, and says, “Grantaire, Enjolras hasn’t had an easy life, and honestly, it’s a miracle he’s as okay as he is. It wouldn’t be totally unexpected for Enjolras to be greatly unbalanced and lacking in social understanding.”

“I _know_ ,” Grantaire interrupts. “God, I know, I know all about his life, and I like him just the way he is, but he’s so attentive most of the time, and then some times he’s just… hardly there. God, maybe I’m just too clingy.” He dips his spoon into the ice cream for a scoop and lets it melt in his mouth.

Courfeyrac smiles at him. “It’s not you,” he reassures Grantaire. “That’s just the way he is, R. He does his best, and we do ours. No one’s perfect.”

“Talk to him about it,” Combeferre advises, in a way that’s less a suggestion and more a command.

“Oh, I’m going to,” Grantaire says. It was never not in the plan to talk to Enjolras. He gives them a small smile. “I’ve got some work to be doing. I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Sure,” Courfeyrac says, smiling at him as he gets to his feet.

Instead of going back to the library, where Enjolras still will be, Grantaire heads to the music rooms and wastes an hour or so practising various instruments, focussing on the ones that he hasn’t had much opportunity to play recently. He’s working on a piece on the violin that he used to be able to play with astounding ease when Enjolras comes in.

He stops, instantly, and lets the violin and bow fall to his sides, held loosely in his hands. Enjolras looks at him for a moment, and then crosses the room and takes Grantaire’s face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Grantaire blinks, surprised.

“What?” he asks.

“I didn’t mean to be insensitive,” Enjolras explains. “I completely ignored you today when I was studying.”

Grantaire leans in a little closer, letting Enjolras close the gap and kiss him lightly. He pulls away to put the violin down on the side, gently. Turning back to Enjolras, he says, “Enj, I’m not mad about that. I felt a little excluded, but it’s fine. I know how much your studies mean to you. I was upset because you didn’t let me know that you talked to Combeferre about us.”

“Oh,” Enjolras says, sounding lightly surprised. “Oh, [I’m sorry,] I didn’t realise. [Shit.] Grantaire, I’m sorry for that, too then. If he’d taken it badly I would have told you, but everything seemed find, and we’ve been doing really well, and I just… didn’t think about it.”

“I know,” Grantaire says, starting to smile. “I forgive you. Just… If we decide to tell anyone else, let’s do it together? We’re a team, aren’t we?”

Enjolras laughs. “Right,” he says. “Ready to go down for dinner?”

“Absolutely,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras takes hold of his hand, and they walk out of the room, side by side.

Halfway down the corridor, Grantaire looks over at Enjolras and, with a loose grin on his face, he says, “Oh, by the way, Courf and Feuilly know, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT. Seriously. Oh god, five weeks. The thing is this fic suddenly felt like a lot of pressure and I kinda backed out on you guys and started writing other things so I stopped obsessing over this but I’m not abandoning this fic I swear I’m not I just freaked out. I’m going to try and get another chapter out in the next week or two. Though… sixth form starts up on Monday and ew stress about that too basically my point is my life is feeling like a lot of stress at the minute I’m going through a lot of personal relationship and identity thingies and ugh it’s gross and bleh 
> 
> But I’m working on it and I swear I’m not going to abandon you we’re coming up to the end of the fic (in like ten chapters or smthing so not that close really) and I won’t leave you without the end. Promise. Also oooh exciting I’m going to Porto, Portugal in October that’s super exciting sorry that’s not relevant I’m just excited I’ve never been to Portugal before 
> 
> Anyway yeah I’m not trying to make excuses I just wanted to give you all an explanation yikes I’m going to stop talking now and try and plan out how to wrap this fic up nicely wish me luck 
> 
> Place your bets on who’s going to find out next now guys hahaha
> 
> Oh and thanks for reading still, guys, you’re all awesome and good luck with the new term of school for those of you going back (and if you’re eleven and starting highschool or fourteen and starting highschool depending on your country extra good luck you’re gonna be fine <3)


	30. Ready To Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo i've uploaded FOUR completed oneshots in the time since i last updated this fic i am a shitty person goddamn anyway i hope you like this chapter i'll do my best to get you another soon but damn no promises sixth form is a lot of work already

Pressed against Enjolras’ back, Grantaire rests his chin on his shoulder. Enjolras sits in between Grantaire’s legs, and slumps back against him, tiredly. “I just can’t do it,” Enjolras says, with a sigh.

“No, of course you can,” Grantaire says. “Look, put your hands back where they were and let me guide you.”

Obediently, Enjolras puts his hands back on the keys, right hand thumb on C4 and left hand little finger on C3 as instructed. Grantaire places his hands on top of Enjolras’. “Right, so, let’s do the scale again, just your right hand. So it’s C, D, E, under with your thumb, F, G, A, B, C, and now back down, B, A, G, F, over with middle finger, E, D, C.” He grins. “There we go,” he says. “Try without me.”

Enjolras gives it a good go, but he forgets when to put his thumb under and can’t seem to remember when to stop, either. It’s sort of adorable, in all honesty. Enjolras groans and flops back against Grantaire, again. “[I’m horrible at this,]” he whines.

Grantaire laughs, wrapping an arm around Enjolras’ waist so that they don’t go toppling backwards off the piano stool. “[I believe in you,]” Grantaire says, encouragingly. “You can do this. One more try.”

Enjolras twists his head round to look at Grantaire. “I can’t,” he says.

Grantaire grins and presses a quick kiss against his cheek. “Of course you can. You can do _anything_.”

“When do I do the thumb thing, again?” Enjolras asks.

“Three keys, thumb, five keys, go back down.”

Enjolras nods. “Got it.” He gives it another go, and remembers when to turn his fingers over, and when he gets back to middle C, he stops in surprise. Then he twists round to look at Grantaire. “I did it? I did it! [Grantaire, I did it! I did the C scale!]”

Grantaire laughs, celebrating with him, and Enjolras pulls his legs up and round to sit facing Grantaire in his lap, and he kisses Grantaire firmly. “[You did it,]” Grantaire says, smiling as Enjolras kisses him again.

Enjolras pulls back, leaning up against the piano, still in Grantaire’s lap. “Art exam tomorrow,” he says with a grin. “You ready?”

“[No,]” Grantaire admits. Then says, “[Okay, I am. I’m just a little nervous, still. You know, we’re not allowed to talk during the exam. Two five hour days, and we’re not allowed to talk. Not even listening to music!]”

Enjolras laughs and says, “[That’s going to be difficult for you.]”

Grantaire sticks his tongue out at Enjolras.

Then Enjolras leans back in closer, brushing their lips together. He says, “[After the exam, I’m going to take you out on a date, okay? It’s going to be great, and then we’re going to come back here, and you can kiss me as much as you want.]”

Grantaire shivers, slightly. “That a promise?” he asks, accidentally slipping back into English.

Enjolras pecks his lips. “[It is.]”

“[Enjolras,]” Grantaire says, “[I want you to know that I don’t care that you’re asexual, and I don’t care that we’ll never have sex because you don’t want to, but I just want to say that I’m am so thrilled that you’ll let me kiss you. It’s pretty much my favourite thing to do.]” He grins. “[Do you know that you do this really cute thing when you want to be kissed really badly? I don’t think you know you do it. You pinch your lips together, and then you lick them, and then you bite the lower lip, and that’s how I know that you really want to be kissed.]”

Enjolras blushes a little, and licks his lips. “[Like this?]” he asks, biting his lip after.

“[Like that,]” Grantaire says, following up with another kiss. Enjolras is smirking when they pull away, like he knows that Grantaire is putty in his hands. “God, you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger, don’t you?”

Enjolras laughs. “I really do, Grantaire. I really do. Now, don’t you think you should be getting to bed? Big day tomorrow.”

Grantaire rolls his head back. He groans. “[What time is it?]”

“Gone eleven,” Enjolras tells him.

“Okay,” Grantaire says, looking back at Enjolras, properly. “Okay, let’s go.” He waits for Enjolras to get off him, and then gets to his feet too, falling against Enjolras as they walk, letting Enjolras put his arm around him. It’s nice. Warm. Just before going into the common room, they let go of each other, in case there are people on the other side of the door.

Inside, Montparnasse is lounging on a sofa, reading a book, an unlit cigarette behind his ear. Enjolras says, “[If you’re going to smoke that, open a window.]”

Montparnasse’s eyes flicker up to look at them both, and, with one eyebrow raised, he replies, “[Sure thing, lovers.]”

Grantaire sticks his middle finger up at Montparnasse as he and Enjolras continue on to the bedrooms. Enjolras’ room is closest, and Enjolras opens the door, and Grantaire follows him for a moment. “Ever get the feeling that _everyone_ knows about us?”

Enjolras laughs. “I don’t think they do,” he replies. “You stopping here, tonight?”

“No,” Grantaire says. “I’m gonna head back to my room, work on some last minute things. I’ll see you at breakfast?”

“Sure,” Enjolras says, with a smile. He gives Grantaire a kiss on the cheek, and then Grantaire slips out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

Back in his own room, he feels a lot more nervous about the exam the next day, but his body feels relaxed after the evening spent with Enjolras, wrapped up in each other, both physically and mentally. He doesn’t work, in the end, because once he’s out of his jeans and under the covers of his bed, his exhaustion catches up to him, and he falls into a deep sleep, quickly.

_

His alarm wakes him, screaming at him to get up, and he groans and throws an arm out to stop its incessant screeching. It takes him another fifteen minutes to convince himself to actually get up, and when he does he slouches all the way to the showers and sinks to wash and brush his teeth. He meets Courfeyrac and Bossuet in there, and hangs around to wait for them.

Breakfast is a blur. He’s overly worried about the exam, now that he’s awake, and Floréal’s bubbly nerves aren’t helping much. He tries to calm her by drawling flowers on her arm with a sharpie from his bag, but she keeps on biting at her nails and fidgeting in her seat. He takes her coffee away from her.

Feuilly, on the other hand, is totally relaxed. After reaching the table, stealing a slice of Bahorel’s toast, and declaring that it’s he/him pronouns for the day, he flops into his seat and smiles round at the table. “Today feels like a good day,” he says, merrily. Grantaire considers throwing his fried egg at him. He settles for a good-natured middle finger in his direction and a grunt.

Enjolras is late to breakfast, arriving out of breath and with a rushed sentence about sleeping through his alarm. Grantaire just laughs and accepts the hug that Enjolras gives to him, and then pushes Floréal’s coffee into his boyfriend’s hands. Enjolras takes a drink, ignoring Floréal’s half-assed protests.

All too soon, it’s time for the art students to head off to their exam, and the rest of the group calls their well wishes after them.

The exam isn’t actually that bad. Once Grantaire has gotten used to the silence, he gets lost in his work, and before he knows it his supervisor is telling everyone that they get half an hour for lunch and that they can talk once they’ve left the room.

Leaving the room, his fellow students all start chattering about how it went for them. Feuilly sounds a little disappointed about a mistake he made near the beginning, but it doesn’t sound like anything unfixable. Floréal seems thrilled about her exam.

In the dinner queue, Enjolras catches up to them, and he pulls Grantaire to the side to ask, “How did it go?”

“Brilliantly,” Grantaire says, with a big smile. “My proportions were off at first, and I couldn’t find the exact shade pencil I wanted, but I fixed it and it’s going brilliantly. It’s going much better than that Marie’s is, she spilt a jar of bleach over her work. It ruined everything.”

Enjolras pulls a sympathetic face. “God, that’s awful,” he says.

“I know,” Grantaire replies. He can’t imagine what she must be feeling like right now. “She has got another seven hours to fix it.”

“True,” Enjolras muses. “Come on,” he then says, “let’s get lunch.”

Grantaire couldn’t agree more.

The second half of the first day passes much the same as the first half did, and Grantaire is feeling confident by the end of the day. So much so that he doesn’t bother to hang around after to talk to Madame Leclair, instead just heading off to the common room to relax and rest. He plays cards with Joly and Combeferre till dinner, and then spends the evening in his room with Enjolras, sketching and talking about nothing.

Enjolras goes off to his own room at around ten, and Grantaire decides to have an early night of it.

He’s very grateful to his past self when his alarm goes off the next morning. He feels refreshed and positive about the day ahead, more so when he remembers that Enjolras promised to take him on a date at the end of it.

The day passes in a whirl, and Grantaire gets through his exam with absolutely no problems, whatsoever. It seems that the world has decided that he’s put up with enough bullshit in his life, and he deserves a week of good fortune. Grantaire is thankful to the world for that decision, especially when he gets back from the exam, and Enjolras picks him up and spins him round and tells him to put on his best clothes.

It seems Enjolras has gotten permission for them to go out for dinner. Grantaire is bubbling with excitement as he roots through his wardrobe for his nicest button-up shirt, and a clean pair of jeans. He borrows a tie off Combeferre.

He knocks on Enjolras’ door, and it opens to reveal Enjolras in a nice top, a flowing skirt, and comfortable but nice shoes. “Wow,” Grantaire says. “You look-”

“Thanks,” Enjolras says. “You too.”

“Shall we?” Grantaire asks.

“Let’s,” Enjolras replies.

The common room is totally empty, as everyone is at dinner, but as the couple head through the entrance hall, someone comes in, her heels clicking on the floor as she goes. Enjolras and Grantaire freeze as her eyes land on them.

“[What are you two- Oh!]” Cosette breaks off, eyes wide as they trail over the two of them, taking in their attire.

“[What?]” Enjolras asks, and Grantaire can see he looks a little panicked. His hands run over his skirt, smoothing it down, and then one hand jumps to his hair.

“[Are- Are you two going on a… date?]” Cosette asks.

Grantaire looks at Enjolras and waits to see how much he wants to say.

“[I- What? Um,]” is what Enjolras comes up with, and Grantaire internally sighs. Enjolras looks across to him, looking scared, and Grantaire gives him a small smile and a half-shrug. “[Yes,]” Enjolras says, decisively, still looking at Grantaire. Then his eyes find his sister, clearly searching for approval. “[Yes, we’re going on a date.]”

Grantaire wraps an arm around his date’s waist, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “[He’s taking me out for dinner,]” he says, beaming.

Cosette sticks her tongue in her cheek and cocks her head to the side, trying not to grin. “[Oh?]” she asks. “[Where’re you going?]”

Enjolras relaxes slightly at that, and he smiles, tentatively, at Cosette. “[You know the one near the park?]”

“[Where we went for Papa’s birthday? Oh, I _love_ that restaurant!]” She presses a hand to her mouth and looks at her step-brother for a long moment. She lowers her hand to rest over her heart, and she says, “[I’m proud of you, big brother.]”

Enjolras takes hold of Grantaire’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “[Thanks, Cosette,]” he says.

When they leave the school and Enjolras takes Grantaire’s hand and holds it tightly, seemingly unable to stop smiling, Grantaire knows how much it means to him to have Cosette’s acceptance in this.

The restaurant is lovely – beautiful even – though Grantaire does balk a little at the prices, despite his own family being rich. Enjolras insists on paying, however, and Grantaire allows him this, because he doesn’t want to fight over something this silly.

Half-way through dinner, Enjolras says, “I think we should tell our friends about us.”

Grantaire startles, but manages to recover without knocking over any glasses. “Okay,” he says.

Enjolras pauses, and puts down his cutlery. “[Okay?]” he asks.

“Yeah,” Grantaire says. “Yeah, I’m okay with that. Besides, almost everyone knows by now, right? Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Cosette, probably other people when you think about it…”

Enjolras just blinks at him. “I thought you’d be more against the idea.”

“Really?” Grantaire smiles. “Well, I’m not. It’s perfectly okay.” Grantaire reaches for his glass and takes a sip. “When do you want to do it?”

“Today, I think. Tonight,” Enjolras says. “I just… I know they’ll be okay with it, and I want to be able to be _us_ when we’re around them, because I really like you, Grantaire. We’ve only got so much time together as it is, and I don’t want to waste any more time being afraid of my own feelings.”

Grantaire smiles at him across the table. “I really like you, too,” Grantaire says. He reaches out over the table to take Enjolras’ hand and lift it to his mouth to kiss. Enjolras flushes a little. “Alright,” he says. “What are we going to say to them?” 


	31. This Song's About You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the beautiful bilingual fairy children continue to be cute and nothing goes wrong ever

Back from the restaurant, aware of the lateness, Grantaire and Enjolras exchange a grin and a quick kiss before the separate and start rounding up their friends. Most are in their rooms, or at least in a bedroom, but Grantaire does have to go all the way to the library to find Combeferre, the nerd. (“[It’s the holidays now, what on Earth are you doing?]” “[Holidays means exams soon, R.]”)

Eventually the whole gang is rounded up and sitting either on a sofa or at the foot of the sofa, waiting patiently.

Enjolras grabs Grantaire’s hand as they stand in front of all their friends, and the group sits up straighter, grins starting to form. Enjolras gives Grantaire a quick look and then says, “[R and I are dating.]”

Joly and Bossuet cheer loudly as a few others let out relieved laughs. “[It’s about damn time!]” Montparnasse exclaims, grinning at them both.

“[Really?]” Musichetta squeals, jumping to her feet. She looks at Grantaire with wide eyes, and when he nods his confirmation, grinning wildly, she screams and tackles him in a warm, excitable hug.

“[Why didn’t you tell us?]” Éponine demands, voice incredulous.

Enjolras glances at Grantaire, and he looks a little embarrassed. “[That’s on me. I was… nervous about my first relationship. I wanted to be sure.]”

“[And now you’re sure?]” Jehan asks, grinning.

Enjolras squeezes Grantaire’s hand. “Now I’m sure,” he says.

And, in the end, it’s as simple as that. Those that knew – or had guessed – barely reacted, just soft gentle smiles, and those that didn’t were nothing short of thrilled. And after that there just isn’t anything to worry about. That night Enjolras and Grantaire sit on the sofa, curled up together as they chat with Combeferre and Jehan, both of whom are suffering from an inability to sleep that night, and it’s wonderful.

The next morning, Enjolras and Grantaire hold hands throughout breakfast, and their friends keep throwing them knowing, pleased looks, and they are both overwhelmingly happy. Grantaire kisses Enjolras on the cheek, and Enjolras blushes, grinning. The little amount of teasing that they get off their friends is more than worth getting to hold Enjolras’ hand in the corridors, Grantaire decides.

But even with this happiness, half term doesn’t last all that long and very soon they’re back to lessons and cramming for exams. They try to study together, but it doesn’t always work out – there are always things to talk about when they’re together. Sometimes, it’s easier to study apart. Not to mention, Grantaire’s determined that Enjolras won’t hear his music exam until the day of the performance.

Enjolras doesn’t understand this at all, it seems.

“Come on, R, I just want to hear a few notes,” Enjolras says, grinning widely as he stands behind Grantaire, who’s sitting at the piano, resting his forearms on Grantaire’s shoulders.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, rolling his eyes. “Come on. It’s two weeks till the exam, you’ll hear it then!”

“Can’t I have a sneak preview?” Enjolras asks, pressing a kiss to the top of Grantaire’s head as added incentive.

“No, but I like your tactics,” Grantaire says, turning to look up at him with a smile.

“If you play three notes for me, you’ll get a proper kiss,” Enjolras says, biting his lip a little. Grantaire thinks the girls have been giving him tips.

Grantaire says, “Kiss first, then I’ll play the notes.”

Laughing, Enjolras asks, “What do you think this is? Come on. Just three tiny, little notes.”

“Did no one ever teach you to be patient?” Grantaire asks, as he stretches up and kisses Enjolras on the very tip of his chin, since that’s all he can reach. Enjolras blushes, prettily, and Grantaire counts that as a success. “The girls are meeting me here any minute, Enj. You have to leave.”

As if to prove his point, Cosette peeks around the door, saying, “Knock, knock,” with a smile.

Grantaire looks over and grins. “Come on in, ladies,” he says. Then, to Enjolras, as Cosette and Éponine make their way into the room, “And out you go, sir.”

“Two notes?” Enjolras asks.

Dutifully, Grantaire reaches behind him and blindly searches for C. He presses the key, and then follows it up with a D. “Happy?” he asks, grinning at Enjolras cheekily.

“It’ll do,” Enjolras says, sounding fond. He straightens up, making as though to leave, but Grantaire catches him by the wrist.

“I believe I was promised something?” he asks, smiling.

“Oh, that’s right,” Enjolras says, coming back closer to Grantaire. “You _were_ ,” he says, and then he leans down, taking Grantaire’s face in his hands, and he presses their lips together.

When he pulls back, Grantaire can’t stop smiling. “I’ll see you later,” he says, gently pushing Enjolras towards the door with his fingers.

“Later,” Enjolras agrees, and with one last look at Grantaire, he disappears out the door.

“Not a word!” Grantaire immediately says to the girls, both of whom are grinning widely. He holds up one finger to them. “Not a word.”

Cosette pretends to zip her lips shut while Éponine simply visibly bites her tongue.

“[Right, do we think we’ve got this song perfected?]” Grantaire asks.  

“[Of course we do,]” Cosette says, promptly.

Grantaire grins at her as Éponine starts warming up her voice while pacing around the room. Grantaire and Cosette quickly join in on warming up their voices and Grantaire runs a few scales on the piano, too.

They throw themselves into practice, knowing that they don’t have that much time left before they have to perform it for a grade. Once they’re done with Grantaire’s pieces, they move onto Éponine’s – which Grantaire isn’t in but once they’re joined by Musichetta and Floréal, he sticks around to give last minute advice.

As Éponine’s truly remarkable mix of songs from her favourite musicals with Cosette and Musichetta and Floréal backing her up comes to an end, Grantaire bursts into applause, clapping and whooping loudly. “That’s phenomenal,” Grantaire says, honestly. “They’re going to _love_ you.”

“You think?” Éponine asks, blushing a little at the praise.

“I _know_ ,” Grantaire says, grinning.

She laughs. “Thanks, R,” she says, sincerely.

Later that day, Grantaire meets Enjolras and Bahorel in the common room while the two joke and laugh together, and Grantaire kisses Enjolras on the cheek and spends the evening braiding Enjolras’ hair and spending time with their friends.

But the week passes quickly, and soon it’s the day before the exam and all the music students are nervous. The day is spent with them all rehearsing and trying not to panic, and soon they decide the only thing to do is to stop practising and not think about it. They’re only getting worked up about slight imperfections.

Enjolras is a wonderful distraction, and he’s being very free with his kisses, which Grantaire suspects is because he knows how on edge Grantaire is. He eventually coaxes Grantaire into bed with him where he encourages Grantaire’s inane chatter to take Grantaire’s mind off the exam. He laughs and smiles cheerfully and presses kisses against Grantaire’s lips as Grantaire twirls the ends of Enjolras’ hair round his fingers.

It’s perfect.

Grantaire is in love.

Grantaire wakes up early, nervous, and slips out of Enjolras’ arms to get out of bed. He quickly pulls on his jeans and shirt, planning to nip back to his room before he goes for a shower to wake himself up. He looks back at Enjolras, fast asleep, unaware that Grantaire is no longer with him. Grantaire smiles.

Grabbing a scrap of paper off the side, Grantaire locates a pen and scrawls out a note, because it’s important that Enjolras’ knows, now. He leaves the note on Enjolras’ bed, his messy scrawl reading the words: ‘Don’t miss the performance. Listen to what I sing. – R’

He’s quiet as he opens the door and slips out. He takes care while closing the door, so that no noise will wake Enjolras – though Enjolras does have a track record of sleeping through curiously loud noises.

When Grantaire makes it to the auditorium where the exam will take place, the rest of his class is already there. There’s a nervous energy in the air, one that’s almost excitement at times. The idea of getting to perform is thrilling to the music students, but also the knowledge that they’re going to be judged and graded on the performance leaves an anxious feeling in all their stomachs.

Soon, people start to come into the auditorium to watch their friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, siblings, perform. The music teacher and the two examiners take their seats, too, all with important looking clipboards, and soon the first student begins their performance.

Grantaire wants to pay attention, because he has no doubt that his classmates will be brilliant, and he wants to support them, but he’s so nervous that he finds it hard.

Finally – _finally_ – it’s his turn.

On shaky legs, Grantaire walks onto the stage alone. He takes steadying breaths, and looks out into the audience. During the short walk to the piano, he searches the people watching for his friends – for Enjolras – and… There he is. Grantaire grins.

He looks down at his hands as he positions them on the keys. And he begins to play.

It goes on for about four minutes, which feels like a lifetime when he’s the only one making a sound in the large room filled with people, but the reaction he gets when he finishes and the smile he gets from his teacher makes him feel completely relaxed.

Grantaire leaves the stage for a minute, joining Éponine and Cosette who give him hugs and tell him how brilliant he is. And then it’s time for the three of them to take the stage, together.

There’s silence throughout the room as Grantaire pauses, gathering the attention of everyone in the room. Éponine and Cosette stand next to the piano with their microphone’s in stands, staring out at the crowd with blank expressions. Grantaire straightens his back, and then he plays the opening chords. They sound loud in the still room, but Grantaire’s eyes find Enjolras in the audience, and he’s perfectly relaxed.

He sings, “What would I do without your smart mouth? Drawing me in, and you kicking me out, you’ve got my head spinning, no kidding. I can’t pin you down.”

Before he’s fully finished the last word, and stops singing, Cosette starts. “All your insecurities, all the dirty laundry, never made me blink one time.”

And Grantaire begins again, “But I’ll be alright. My heads under water, but I’m breathing fine. You’re crazy and I’m out of my mind.”

While Éponine remains utterly impassive, silent and still, Cosette sings, loud and clear, her voice perfect with Grantaire’s piano, “There is no fear now! Let go and just be free! I will love you, unconditionally.”

Grantaire sings the start of the chorus alone. “Give your all to me – I’ll give my all to you. You’re my end and my beginning, even when I lose I’m winning.”

And then Éponine joins in, finally, fitting between Grantaire’s own voice, which is singing, “Even when you’re crying your beautiful too.”

She’s startling and beautiful, as her face is no longer blank, but filled with emotion. “But I’m only human! And I bleed when I fall down. I’m only human! And I crash, and I break down. Your words in my head, knives in my heart. You build me up and then I fall apart. Cause I’m only human.”

And Cosette re-joins them then, singing alone as they fade out. “Unconditional, unconditionally. I will love you, unconditionally.”

Their voices continue to rise and fall in perfect harmony, fitting and contrasting in remarkable ways, and there’s not a sound in the auditorium but them. It’s incredible, and Grantaire is so unbelievably proud of both himself and his friends who have helped him out in innumerable ways. If he wasn’t singing, he’d be utterly speechless.

They continue through the song, until all that’s left is Grantaire’s final piano notes, and it all… stops.

A beat of silence. Then applause, so loud that it shocks Grantaire, and he can see Enjolras on his feet, cheering loudly for him, and he can’t stop grinning. He staggers to his feet, to join the girls at the front of the stage where the three of them bow. Then Cosette and Éponine gesture to him, since this is his marked work, and he takes another bow.

The audience quietens down and his teacher and the examiner thank them and they make their way off stage. They fall into each other’s arms, buzzing with happiness and success. It’s a dizzy feeling, and though Éponine still has her performance to go, she looks relieved as though she was more worried about Grantaire’s than her own. (Hers _is_ perfect, so maybe she has no reason to worry.)

Éponine is on after one more person, so she waits with Cosette and the other girls side-stage, but Grantaire is officially done until Floréal’s performance, and she’s not on for a while yet, so, in a dizzy state, he heads towards where he last saw Enjolras.

He makes his way onto the floor of the auditorium, and there’s chattering as there’s a pause while the next student prepares for their performance. Grantaire stands on his tiptoes to look for his boyfriend, and it doesn’t take long for him to spot that familiar head of blond curls.

Enjolras spots him the same time Grantaire does, and they’re quickly making their way towards each other, and the rest of their friends are following Enjolras to congratulate Grantaire, but Grantaire only has eyes for Enjolras. When they reach, Enjolras throws himself into Grantaire’s arms, and they hold each other tightly.

Enjolras pulls back and he looks at Grantaire with a big smile and watery eyes. “I… I heard you,” he says, and Grantaire breathes out, fast but sure.

He beams at Enjolras. “I love you,” Grantaire tells him. Enjolras laughs, but Grantaire knows it’s out of shock rather than mocking him. “I know I’m only seventeen,” Grantaire says, quickly, “and sometimes I think about that and how impossibly young and foolish I am, and how there’s a whole world out there, a life ahead of me, but I need you to know that I’m in love with you. It’s the strongest and most solid thing I’ve ever felt. I love you.”

Enjolras pulls him in close again, squeezing his eyes shut as he presses their foreheads together and caresses Grantaire’s cheek. For Grantaire’s ears only, he whispers, “I love you, too, my daft American.”

And they both start to laugh, filled with an indescribable emotion.

Eventually, they manage to turn away from each other so that Grantaire can talk with their friends, and their friends can give him a hug and say, “Well done,” but they don’t let go of each other’s hand. When they sit down to listen to the rest of the performances, Enjolras gives Grantaire’s hand a squeeze, and Grantaire manages to forget all about the future, because this moment is enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes this took me a while and man this was hard to write!! thanks for your patience you are all gems :)
> 
> okay so grantaire is singing all of me by john legend.  
> cosette is singing unconditionally by katy perry.  
> eponine is singing human by christina perri (which is a fantastic song btw i love it a lot). 
> 
> the truth is no i did not come up with the song thing myself the credit goes to someone on tumblr with the url song-masher and i would totally recommend listening to it (here's a link: nerds-are-cool.tumblr.com/post/93089898276) so all credit to them!
> 
> but like haha don't know if you picked up on this but obvs r was singing to e and ye eponine was def singing to parnasse and cosette was singing about marius and courfeyrac psshh i'm trash i know i know
> 
> anyway there probably won't be that many chapters left! i'm going to do another interlude with eponine and montparnasse and then all that's really left to do is close up the school year and... well that's for me to know and you to find out haha
> 
> anyway i hope you're all still enjoying this and i hope school/whatever is going well for you :) ooh i'm going to porto, portugal in a few days - anyone from there reading this?? that would be majorly cool 
> 
> oh and who else is utterly obsessed with hamilton at the minute?? (if you dont know what hamilton is pls look it up and listen to the soundtrack on spotify it is lifechanging 10/10 would recommend.)


	32. Interlude: Montparnasse and Éponine

Montparnasse is not doing well. He’s tired of being alone, tired of being sad, tired of missing Éponine. He misses her almost constantly, knowing that there must have been something he could have done to stop the break up. He’s tried talking to his friends, asked for advice more times than he can count, but they’ve all said the same thing – “Talk to her, Parnasse!” which… is a lot scarier than they seem to understand.

That’s the problem with having friends who are all in successful, happy relationships. They all seem to have forgotten that it’s not all sunshine and happiness at the start. (Though for a few of them it was, actually.)

He watches Éponine sit studying for her final exam. She’s fucking gorgeous, even like this, sleep-deprived and a little dishevelled. She chews on the end of her pencil, frowning down at the page for a moment, but then her expression clears and she mouths ‘oh’ at it before ducking down to scribble some notes on another sheet of paper. He smiles, powerlessly.

Her eyes flick up, spot him, and immediately look back down. There’s a slight frown on her beautiful face once again, this time completely unrelated to her work. He sighs.

Without looking up, she asks, “[What are you looking at?]”

“[You,]” he replies.

She scoffs and looks up at him. One perfectly sculpted eyebrow is arched. Her lips are pursed slightly in disapproval and Montparnasse wants to kiss her breathless. “[And why do you think you have that luxury?]” she asks him, scathingly. He merely meets her gaze and doesn’t say anything. “[What do you want, Montparnasse?]” she asks, sounding irritated.

“[I want you back, for fucks sake, Éponine,]” he says, frustrated.

“[I’m not a fucking toy, Montparnasse! You can’t just decide when you want to play with me and when you don’t!]” she cries out, waving her arms dramatically. She was so peaceful moments ago and he’s shattered that.

“[I know that, Ép, come on, I’m _sorry_ ,]” he pleads.

“[I don’t accept your apology,]” she says. She goes back to reading her textbook. Exasperated, Montparnasse stares at her while she pretends to work. He gets up, coming over to sit with her on the floor. She doesn’t so much as glance at him, but he knows she’s not really paying attention to her studying, either.

“[Ép…]” he says, quietly. “[Please.]” He reaches out for her, and she flinches away. He pulls back his hands and sighs. “[I know that we both made mistakes, and-]”

“[I’m sorry, _we_?]” she asks, angrily turning to look at him. “[ _We?_ ]”

Montparnasse groans. “[Fine, _I_ made some mistakes, Éponine, and I know that it’s going to take some work to get past that, but we were good together. We’re good for each other.]”

Éponine sighs and puts her pencil down. “[Are we?]” she asks, for the first time sounding like this conversation is taking something out of her – like she really does feel something other than anger towards him. “[We’ve broken up more times than I can remember, and every time we get back together I tell myself that it’s going to be different – and it never is, Parnasse.]”

“[I can try harder,]” he says, earnestly. “[I miss you, Ép.]”

She looks at him sadly. “[I miss you, too.]”

“[Then why not?]” he asks.

Frustrated, she exclaims, “[Because it’s just going to end the same way it always does! We’ll fight and argue, and say horrible things to each other, and break up and be sad again. Wouldn’t it just be easier to get over each other?]”

He reaches out for her again, and this time she lets him take hold of her hands. He rubs his thumb over the smooth skin on the back of her hand. “[Maybe it would be. For you. But I couldn’t get over you if I tried,]” he tells her. He swallows and breathes out, shakily.

She pulls her hands away, shaking her head. “[I can’t,]” she says, and her voice comes out a little broken. “[I can’t go through that again, Montparnasse.]”

Montparnasse shuts his eyes, screwing his face up in pain. He runs his hands through his hair and opens his eyes. “[Please,]” he begs. “[Give me one more chance.]”

“[Why?]” she asks, sounding genuine. “[What’s going to be different?]”

“[I’ll pay more attention to you!]” he declares. When she raises an eyebrow at him, a trace of humour on her lips, he adds, “[No, really. I’ll… ask you about your siblings, and how you’re feeling, and I’ll… I’ll remember your birthday and our anniversary!]” His face crumples. “[I know that I’m a shit boyfriend, and I know that I’m a terrible friend on top of that, but I really do want to try, Éponine. I really care about you. More than I care about anyone else in the world. Please. Give me another go.]”

She sighs. One of her hands reaches out and touches his chest. She slides her fingers across the fabric of his shirt, and leans in to press a gentle, small kiss on his lips. She pulls away and smiles, sadly. “[I’m really sorry, Montparnasse. I can’t go through it again. I care about you too, but I can’t.]”

“[Please,]” he pleads.

“[No,]” she says. “[You’ll move on,]” she assures him. “[You will. You’ll get over me and find someone else who makes you happy. We’re young, I’m not going to be the last person you fall in love with.]”

He manages a small laugh, then. “[You don’t know that. Twenty years from now I might still be in love with you.]”

She rolls her eyes. “[It’s unlikely,]” she says. “[Look, I get that you love me now, and you have to believe me that I love you too, but it’s not going to work out. Can’t we just let things end and try being _friends_ for once?]”

Montparnasse pulls a face. “[I thought we were friends.]”

“[I think we lost track of friendship,]” Éponine replies. “[But if we manage to be friends again, I’ll think about giving it another go.]”

“[You will?]” he asks, voice full of hope that he can’t contain.

“[Sure,]” she says with a bit of a smile.

He grins. “[You’ll see. I’ll be the best damn friend you’ve ever had, Ép.]”

That makes her laugh, and she pats him on the leg. “[I’d love that, Montparnasse.]”

His grin settles into a soft, private smile, just for her. “[So would I.]”

She then lifts her hand to gentle push him away. “[Now, piss off, I really do have to study.]”

He chuckles and backs off a little, but says, “[Anything I could do to help?]”

She raises one of her eyebrows at him, looking more than a little pleased. “[Yes, actually. Could you test me on the questions on this page?]”

He nods, eagerly, taking the book off her and scanning his eyes down the page. “[Man, I’m glad I don’t do maths,]” he says, and she laughs a little, making him smile at her.

They settle into it easily, and it’s so simple just to be who they were when they were together, before the arguing and the breakup. Montparnasse genuinely loves this girl, knows it every second of the day, but never more than when he gets to spend time with her. If she wants to take things back to the beginning, then he’ll do it. He’d do just about anything for Éponine Thénardier. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow so i'm not a massive fan of this chapter but it was something i wanted to write and i have so i figured you guys might as well get to read it anyway :)
> 
> and here comes the good/bad news. i've finished writing this fic. to me this is good news (but also a little sad) because man this has been one heck of a journey. i started uploading this almost one year ago and well, there are only two chapters left! so it's also bad news because, yep, we're coming to an end! i hope you're not too sad about this!
> 
> anyway i hope you liked this chapter and the next chapter will go up, if i'm organised next weekend. (unless you guys want it sooner? because like it's written so... just say the word and you can have it sooner.) the last chapter WILL go up on november 12th, the year anniversary of starting to upload this, because that's the sort of person that i am but you can decide when you want the penultimate chapter haha :)


	33. Anything But You

Enjolras’ laughter lights up the room, filling the space with its wonderful sound. His smiling face isn’t far from Grantaire’s, and Grantaire feels like the luckiest person on the planet. Floréal’s piano playing is the background music to Enjolras’ joy, as Grantaire attempts to lead him in a waltz that isn’t going very well. Nearby, Combeferre is trying to teach Courfeyrac, and Cosette and Marius are the only ones managing to dance successfully and elegantly.

This is what happiness is, to Grantaire.

Summer is fast approaching, and with that comes a world of fear and worry about the future, but right now, it’s still school term, though exams and stress are over, and Grantaire can’t stop smiling as Enjolras stumbles over his feet again, and bursts out laughing.

It’s a little difficult to teach someone to waltz when their whole body is shaking with laughter, and they can’t seem to stay upright to save their life, but Grantaire doesn’t mind. Enjolras is in his arms and unable to hide his overwhelming delight.

It’s such a beautiful sight.

The whole world knows they’re together, now, and, knowing this, Grantaire lets go of Enjolras’ hand to gently run his thumb across the length of Enjolras’ jawline, and lean in to press their lips together, capturing a bit of Enjolras’ laughter for his own.

Courfeyrac wolf-whistling at them draws them apart, Enjolras blushing and laughing softly, while Grantaire rolls his eyes at their friend, his middle-finger raised.

“[Get a room,]” Courfeyrac yells. Enjolras drops his head against Grantaire’s chest to hide his blush and his giggles. Grantaire beams down at him.

“Boo!” Marius says, giving them a thumbs down, while Cosette declares that they make her _sick_ (grinning all the while, unquestionably thrilled for her step-brother).

With those comments coming from the sweetest threesome in history – though Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta may have something to say about that – Grantaire feels as though he has grounds for ignoring them and kissing Enjolras again. He thinks the redness of Enjolras’ cheeks is utterly adorable.

Enjolras grins at him.

When Grantaire turns away from Enjolras for a moment, he catches sight of Combeferre determinedly not looking at them, and as Combeferre lets go of Courfeyrac to go and sit with Floréal for a moment – and she rests her head on his shoulder as she continues to play – Grantaire feels a little guilty. However Combeferre starts to smile as Floréal grins at him, changing her tune into a jazzy piece, and he kisses her on the cheek, making her laugh and blush.

Enjolras follows Grantaire’s line of sight as Grantaire starts to grin and Enjolras smiles too. Then he turns back to Grantaire and kisses him soundly, the kiss turning into helpless giggling and happiness.

It’s a perfect moment and Grantaire would be quite happy to live in it forever.

Of course, that’s the moment that the door opens and the look on Feuilly’s face shatters it completely. “Enjolras,” he says, looking worried. “[Valjean wants to see you – he says it’s urgent.]”

Enjolras stills in Grantaire’s arms, looking confused. “[What happened?]” he asks.

Feuilly comes over to him, taking his arm and leaning in to say in an undertone, so the others don’t hear, “[It’s your dad.]”

Grantaire looks at his boyfriend, sharply, taking in the pain and understanding on his face. “[Is he…?]” Enjolras begins to asks.

“[No, but Valjean looked very grave,]” Feuilly says. “[Enjolras, I’m so sorry.]”

Enjolras just nods, brusquely. His hand wraps tightly around Grantaire’s and, stiffening his shoulders, he walks for the door, tugging Grantaire with him, as Feuilly follows, a few steps behind. Grantaire doesn’t have the words he wants to say, so he simply keeps up with Enjolras and keeps hold of his hand, squeezing it as comfortingly as he is able.

Without knocking, Enjolras strides into Valjean’s quarters, Grantaire now half a step behind but still connected. He says, “[What’s happening?]” and Valjean tries valiantly to smile.

“[We have to get to the hospital,]” he says. “[Is there anything you need before we go?]”

Enjolras says, “[Grantaire’s coming with me.]”

Valjean pulls a face like he wants to say no, but clearly he decides that Enjolras can have this if he wants it, because all he says is, “[Okay. Let’s go.]”

They take Valjean’s car, and Enjolras and Grantaire sit in the backseat together, Enjolras tucked under Grantaire’s arm, despite the fact that his chin is up and he is resolutely not looking upset about anything. Grantaire knows him too well to believe that. Grantaire rubs his shoulder and sighs. Enjolras just stares straight ahead.

When they pull up in front of the hospital, Enjolras is tense all over and he doesn’t make any movement to get out, and Grantaire lifts his hand to his mouth to kiss it, gently. “Come on,” he says, lightly, “let’s get out of the car, yeah?”

Enjolras looks over at him, but his eyes seem unseeing. “I’ve already lost my mother,” he says, “I can’t lose him too.”

“Whatever happens,” Grantaire says, steadily, “we’ll get through it.”

Enjolras nods. He clears his throat. “Alright,” he says. His voice sounds hoarse and uncertain. He gets out the car, though, and to Grantaire this is at least progress. Valjean is waiting for them on the pavement, and he gives Grantaire a grim smile when they get out the car.

Grantaire’s arm wraps around Enjolras’ waist, guiding him in the direction of the hospital, but once his feet start moving, Enjolras seems to come back to himself. He walks of his own accord, chin held high, the only sign that he’s not totally in control is how he grabs hold of Grantaire’s hand once again and his knuckles are white, gripping Grantaire’s hand like a lifeline.

Valjean walks behind the boys, and Enjolras goes up to the desk to gives his father’s name, and receive directions to his new hospital room – he’s been moved due to the drastic decline in his health. Grantaire sees the worry ingrained in Enjolras face, jawline tight and eyebrows drawn close.

When they’re finally by Enjolras’ father’s side, Enjolras takes a few deep breaths and sinks into one of the chairs by the bed. A doctor informs him of his father’s state, telling him how they noticed the decline in his vitals, and Grantaire stays silent, not taking his eyes off Enjolras, while Enjolras stares helplessly at his father’s still face.

“[Is he going to die?]” Enjolras asks, at last, not looking at the doctor.

The doctor makes a slight sound, and then says, “[We’re doing everything we can to prevent that outcome, but… You should be prepared for the worst.]” The doctor tightens their grip on their clipboard and says, “[Your father has been in a coma for over six years, the chances of him waking up are minimal, at this point. And if he does, he will likely have severe brain damage. His life will not be easy if he wakes up. We’d like to discuss with you the possibility of terminating his care.]”

Enjolras looks at the doctor sharply. “[You mean kill him?]”

“[We use the term passive euthanasia,]” the doctor says, carefully. “[In this case it would be non-voluntary. You would have to make the decision, as the only living and… able member of his family.]”

In a whisper, Enjolras asks, “[You want me to decide whether I should kill my father or not?]”

“[It’s not killing him. Don’t think of it like that.]”

“[How else am I supposed to think of it?]” Enjolras demands. “[Can you keep him alive?]” he asks the doctor.

“[We can’t say with any certainty,]” the doctor says, and Enjolras sighs in frustration, looking back at his father. Grantaire quietly sits down beside Enjolras and takes his hand. Enjolras doesn’t look at him, but he gives his hand a squeeze.

Eventually, Enjolras says, “[I can’t. I can’t just… end his life. If he dies, then he dies. But I couldn’t live with myself for being the reason he’s dead. Keep treating him, I’m not giving up.]”

The doctor just nods, accepting that.

“[I’m not giving up on him,]” Enjolras says again, though nobody argued with him.

+

When they get back to the school, Enjolras and Grantaire go to Enjolras room and sit on the bed, side by side.  

“I’m sorry for dragging you along to that,” Enjolras says. “I needed you, but I just realised that maybe you didn’t want to be there.”

“That’s alright,” Grantaire says. “I’m happy to be there for you. You needed me. If I really hadn’t wanted to go, I would have said something.”

Enjolras just nods, eyes unfocused. “Did I make the wrong choice?” Enjolras asks, staring at the wall, blankly. “Is drawing it out just… What if he knows what’s happening? Can _feel_ himself dying? Maybe it’s kinder to end it all.”

Grantaire’s not sure he has the words to bring comfort to Enjolras. He clears his throat. “Enjolras… For just a second don’t think about him. _You_ couldn’t make that decision, and that’s okay. You still need him. It’s okay to hope that he’ll come back to you. He loves you.” He leans his forehead against Enjolras’ shoulder. “It’s okay to want someone who loves you to stay.”

“I’m not being selfish?” Enjolras asks.

“You? I don’t think you know how to be selfish, Enjolras.” Grantaire kisses Enjolras’ shoulder. He lifts his head and kisses his temple, too. “When something bad happens, you’re allowed to want help, Enj. It’s not selfishness.”

Enjolras nods, slowly. He turns to look at Grantaire and almost smiles when Grantaire immediately kisses him on the tip of his nose. “Do you mind if I go talk to Combeferre and Courfeyrac?”

Grantaire shakes his head. “Not at all. I’ll go hang out with Joly and Bossuet for a bit, I feel like I haven’t seen them in ages.”

Enjolras suddenly pulls him in for a tight hug. “Thank you,” he says. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you today.”

“You’d have managed,” Grantaire says, confident, “but I’m glad I could help.”

“You did,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire pulls him to his feet then, and leads him from the room, getting them both moving. He stops before going into the common room. To Enjolras, he says, with complete sincerity, “[I’m so proud of you, Enjolras. You’re so brave.]”

Enjolras steps closer and kisses him quickly. “[I love you,]” he replies.

Grantaire grins, because he can’t do anything else when Enjolras looks at him like that. “[I love you, too.]” He laughs, softly. “[Come on, let’s go find Ferre and Courf for you.]”

Enjolras nods and lets Grantaire tug him through the doorway into the common room.

-

Later, Grantaire is sat in the girls’ common room with Cosette, Éponine, Floréal, Joly, Bossuet, and Jehan. Musichetta’s just popped down to the kitchen with Feuilly in search of ice cream and/or popcorn for them to eat while the rest of them are picking a movie. He’s buried under at least three blankets with Floréal and Bossuet, and he’s a little warm but far too comfortable to move.

Cosette and Éponine are painting their toenails whilst arguing with Jehan and Joly about whether The Goonies rates above Back to the Future. It’s making Grantaire chuckle when he doesn’t pay attention to the French enough to understand them, and suddenly they’ll yell ‘Back to the Future’ in English. Eventually, however, Bossuet yells, “[Why don’t we watch both, you dummies?]”

They all agree it sounds like a good plan.

When Musichetta and Feuilly get back, armed with ice cream, bowls, spoons, and freshly-made popcorn, they put The Goonies in the DVD player and settle in. Éponine asks if she can paint Grantaire’s toes, and since he is getting far too hot under the blankets, he agrees and goes to sit by her, ignoring the protests of Floréal and Bossuet for the loss of their cuddle-partner.

Half-way through the movie, the door creaks open to the common room and Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Enjolras all sneak in. They try to stay quiet to not disturb the viewing, but Courfeyrac trips over the bowl of popcorn, ruining everything. He apologises profusely, and the others all shush him vehemently. He giggles uncontrollably for ages, making Joly and Floréal quite irritated at him, but he settles down before the end of the movie at least.

Enjolras scoots over to sit with Grantaire, peering over his shoulder at his freshly-painted toenails. “Nice colour,” he whispers.

“Thanks,” Grantaire replies. “Do you want yours done?”

“My feet are really ticklish,” he replies. “You can do my fingernails if you want, though?”

“Sure, what colour do you want?” Grantaire asks.

“Do you have red?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire has to pinch his lips together to stop himself from laughing. “Yeah, sure, come here.”

He takes hold of Enjolras’ hand, moving so it rests on Grantaire’s knee, and then he unscrews the lid of the red nail varnish, before setting to work on neatly painting the nails. When he’s done with the first hand, he gets Enjolras to put his other hand on Grantaire’s knee so he can do that one too. After that, he lifts Enjolras’ hands and blows on the nails, lightly touching the first hand he did with his fingertips to test if they’re dry. He then does another coat.

“You’ve done this a lot, haven’t you?” Enjolras asks, grinning at him.

Grantaire chuckles. “A little, I suppose. I’ve done the girls’ nails a few times – Cosette’s really bad at doing her left hand. I’m really bad at painting my own nails – that’s a disaster.”

Enjolras laughs. “Well you’re good at doing other people’s, clearly. Are you done?” he asks.

“No,” Grantaire says, smiling. “We need to wait for this to dry and do a topcoat in clear if you want it to last more than a day.”

“Okay,” Enjolras says, voice soft. Grantaire looks up at him, and sees the fond look on his face. Enjolras says, “I’m going to miss you.”

Grantaire’s smile drops from his face. “Me too,” he admits.

That makes Enjolras lean in to kiss him, but Grantaire only returns the kiss for a moment before pulling back. “Careful,” he says, “you’re going to smudge your nails.”

Enjolras stares at him in disbelief for a second before bursting into laughter, far too loud for the quiet room. He gets shushed by multiple people at the same time, and Enjolras casts an apologetic look their way, still grinning.

Grantaire takes his hand, brushing his fingertips across the nails. He does this on both hands before saying, “I _think_ they’re dry. Blow on them for a bit longer, though.”

Enjolras does as he’s told, eyes not leaving Grantaire’s face as he blows his nails dry. Grantaire looks back, trying to commit Enjolras to memory, hating the fact that there’s less than a week left of term. His flight has been booked. He really is going back to America.

After he is done putting a clear coat on Enjolras’ nails, Enjolras slips his hand into Grantaire’s, being careful of his nails as he links their fingers together. Enjolras curls into his side. Grantaire presses a kiss to his forehead.

He tries to focus on the movie after that – they’re now watching Back to the Future, and Grantaire honestly loves that film, but he can’t stop thinking about how little time he has left with all of these friends.

A quarter of the way in, he feels Enjolras start to shake, pressed against his side, and he glances down to see Enjolras’ eyes red and tears starting to track down his face. Grantaire makes a soft noise and gathers Enjolras up in his arms. “Hey,” he whispers, “it’s alright.”

“I’m not ready for him to die,” Enjolras whimpers, and Grantaire rocks him gently as he holds on to him and Enjolras cries.

“Shh, I know,” Grantaire says, pressing kisses in his hair. “I know.”

“I just can’t say goodbye to him, yet,” Enjolras sobs.

“I know,” Grantaire says again. “It’s okay. I’ve got you, it’s okay.” He’s got his eyes closed, so it makes him jump a little when someone else wraps their arms around them both, but when he looks it’s just Courfeyrac, and Enjolras whimpers and burrows further into their arms.

“[We’ve got you, Enj,]” Courfeyrac says, comfortingly. “[Nobody’s saying goodbye to anybody just yet.]”

They stay sat like that, the three of them curled around each other, Courfeyrac and Grantaire holding onto Enjolras tightly as he cries, looking after him. The rest of the room gives them their privacy, and Grantaire will be forever grateful to their friends for that. Enjolras must be exhausted, because he eventually falls asleep between the two of them, head resting on Grantaire’s chest, still holding onto Courfeyrac’s hand.

Courfeyrac and Grantaire share a look, both a little red-eyed and shaken. Grantaire leans back against the wall, Courfeyrac going with him so they don’t disturb Enjolras’ sleep.

“Courf?” Grantaire says, quietly. “Look after him when I’m gone.”

Courfeyrac looks at him for a long moment. “Of course I will. But you’re not leaving us, really. Stay in touch. We’d never forgive you for just walking out of our lives – we get attached.”

Grantaire smiles. “Sure thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't hate me? i just rly wanted to write this i dont know why i just wanted enj to break down and sorry i'm a sadist but anyway the start was cutesy???
> 
> the next chapter won't be till next thursday so ha sucks to be u guys and that will be the last chapter!
> 
> i'm seeing 21p at manchester ritz tomorrow night if any of you happen to be there hit me up on twitter (@caitreeve) or tumblr (nerds-are-cool) bc that would be cool! even if ur not going to be there hit me up on those places i'd love to talk to anyone who's reading this haha :)
> 
> oh and i went back and read all the comments from this fic that u guys have written and i got a little teary actually you're all sO KIND wordaddiction and rhealoveless are you still reading this?? u guys were the first to comment (that weren't guest ppl - the guests were called Y and pock so if u remember that being u and ur still here that would be amazing too)!!!!!


	34. Teach Me How To Say Goodbye

It’s freezing up on the roof, but it’s quiet, and Grantaire doesn’t have to keep up a brave face in front of all the incredible friends that he’s made over the last year. He sits on the cold floor, and Enjolras sits beside him, both of them silent.

“I hate goodbyes,” Enjolras says, at last.

Grantaire replies, “I’ve not really had that many. None that actually mattered.” He leans into Enjolras, fingers slipping inside Enjolras’ jacket pocket, holding on to him loosely. “I hate this one.” His bottom lip is trembling so he grits his teeth and tells himself that it’s just the cold. “This one matters.”

“It doesn’t have to be goodbye,” Enjolras says, not sounding sure of himself, possibly for the first time ever.

“But it might be,” Grantaire reminds him. His parents aren’t very good at letting him have what he wants – and his track record for spending more than a single year at a school is not exactly good. In fact, if he were to return in September that would make it twice in his life he’s managed it.

They sit, leaning against each other in silence, staring at the stars in the sky. Enjolras’ hand slips into his pocket to wrap around Grantaire’s hand. Grantaire sits up straight to turn to Enjolras. “I’m a better person for having known you,” Grantaire says strongly, looking straight into Enjolras’ eyes, sincere in a way that people only are when there’s no time left to be anything but. “I’m never going to forget this night or this time.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Enjolras says. “I really, really do not want you to leave.”

“I wish I didn’t have to,” Grantaire says. Enjolras’ grip on his hand is bordering vice-like. He can’t believe how much has happened over the year. How much they’ve both changed. Eventually Grantaire sighs. “Come on, get up,” he says, getting to his feet and helping Enjolras up too.

Together they walk back down to the common room. Everyone’s still awake, and as much as Grantaire wants to spend all his time with Enjolras while he still can, it’s not just his boyfriend that he’s saying goodbye to tomorrow. So he settles down on the sofa, between Floréal and Bossuet, while Enjolras sits at his feet, resting his back against his legs. Grantaire’s hands find their way into Enjolras’ hair, playing with it, plaiting, while the group of friends talk. Floréal curls into Grantaire’s side, arm stretching around him to hold onto him tightly. He kisses her lightly on the head and she burrows herself further into the crook of his arm.

It’s sad, when Grantaire stops to think about it, but here, surrounded by people he genuinely loves, he can’t stop smiling, can’t stop laughing at their ridiculous jokes. There’s happiness in the way Cosette sits on Marius lap while Courfeyrac has an arm around Marius. There’s joy in the way Feuilly laughs so hard there are tears in her eyes at a story Éponine tells. There’s love between every single person in that common room.

Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta are the first to say goodnight, slipping off to Joly’s room together, and Jehan is quick to follow suit, going back to the girls’ wing with Floréal and Éponine. Feuilly quits not long later, and Bahorel laughs his loud laugh and says that if Feuilly’s heading off, then there’s no reason for him to stick around much longer, following her down the corridor.

Enjolras yawns widely, and Grantaire smirks, fingers stilling in Enjolras’ hair. “If you want to go to bed, you can, love,” he says.

“Are you coming, too?” Enjolras asks, craning his neck to look up at him.

Grantaire leans down and kisses him, softly. “I’ll be there shortly. You go ahead.”

Enjolras smiles at him, getting to his feet and stretching. He disappears through the doorway, and Grantaire stares after him.

Courfeyrac wakes Marius, where he’s sleeping against the wall, and with Cosette, he manages to get Marius on his feet and off towards the bedrooms, Cosette going with them. She gives Grantaire a little wave as she goes, and Grantaire realises just how much he’s going to miss her.

There’s only Grantaire, Montparnasse, and Combeferre left, then. Montparnasse takes a drag of his cigarette, looks between the two of them, and quickly gets to his feet. He throws the cigarette out the window, breathing out the smoke in his mouth, and gives them a wink, leaving the room after everyone else.

Grantaire turns to look at Combeferre, who looks expectantly at him. When Grantaire doesn’t speak, Combeferre says, “He’s not going to take it well if you don’t come back.”

Grantaire nods. “I know,” he says. He swallows. Combeferre comes to sit beside him. “If… If I don’t come back,” Grantaire says, slowly, “you’ve gotta take care of him.” He breathes out, heavily. “I love him, kind of a ridiculous amount, and I know that you still do, too. I’m not… I’m not saying that if I don’t come back you should confess how you feel and- well, whatever. You obviously can, if you want, but I’m not forcing you too. Just, keep being you, Ferre. He needs you.” He then says, in a rush, “And if you do tell him, you have my blessing. Tell him that if he has any guilt over it.”

Combeferre doesn’t seem to have any words. He clears his throat eventually. “I’m dating Floréal,” he says.

“I know,” Grantaire says. “I don’t mean to… devaluate how you feel for her, I can see you make each other happy. I just would have been mad at myself if I didn’t say anything.”

Combeferre smiles. “Well, thank you. But it’s not necessary. Enjolras doesn’t… and even if he did, he loves you too much to ever really be with me. Besides, I’ve got Floréal, and… while I wouldn’t say that we love each other, there’s the potential to. We’re happy enough with that.” He’s looking down at his hands, smiling fondly, by the end of his little speech. Grantaire grins.

“She is pretty great, isn’t she?” he says.

Combeferre blushes. “Wonderful,” he agrees. He laughs, softly to himself, and then says, “I should probably head to bed, and Enjolras is probably waiting for you.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire agrees, smiling at the thought. “Goodnight, Combeferre.”

“Night, Grantaire. Don’t forget to say goodbye in the morning,” Combeferre reminds him. “Hugs will be expected from pretty much everyone, heads up.”

Grantaire grins. “I’m going to miss them all, so much.”

“So come back next term,” Combeferre suggests, getting to his feet.

The smile slips off Grantaire’s face. “That’s the dream,” he says.

Combeferre gives him a small smile and a hand to get off the sofa. “I’ll take care of him – what are best friends for. But, if you don’t come back… stay in touch.”

“I’ll try,” Grantaire says.

Together they head for the bedrooms, Combeferre heading inside his while Grantaire heads straight for Enjolras’. Grantaire stops still at the sight of Enjolras lying in the bed, the lamp still shining brightly. Enjolras is curled up, facing the room with his back to the wall, plenty of space for Grantaire, fast asleep. He looks beautiful and peaceful and Grantaire’s heart aches at the prospect of never seeing him again.

Quickly, Grantaire strips and climbs into bed with Enjolras, trying not to wake him. He fails in this, jostling Enjolras’ awake. “Sorry,” Grantaire whispers, quickly turning off the light and lying down with Enjolras. Enjolras’ arm wraps around him, holding him close.

“[It’s alright,]” Enjolras mumbles, clearly exhausted. He clumsily kisses Grantaire on the corner of the mouth and Grantaire smiles into the darkness, burrowing into the covers and Enjolras’ warm arms. It’s so soft and comfortable in the bed, and both boys smile.

-

The next morning is a flurry of movement, students scrambling to find all their belongings, finding things in the weirdest of places and helping others cram everything into bags that suddenly seem much too small.

Grantaire gets through the morning in a bit of a daze, throwing his things into his bags rather haphazardly. It’s all done much too soon, and he sits on his neatly-made bed staring at the opposite wall. He gets to his feet, turning on the spot to look around at the small room that’s been a part of his life for a year now.

With shaking hands, he takes down the painting off the wall that Floréal did for him what feels like a lifetime ago. The painting of his friends, with the words ‘My Family’ in beautiful writing, feels delicate in his hands and his lower lip wobbles. He swallows, forcing the lump in his throat to subside. He takes out one of his books and slips it inside, hoping to keep it from tearing or creasing on the long journey ahead of him.

As he stows the book back inside his suitcase, there’s a light knock at the door, and he turns to see Enjolras and Jehan smiling at him from the doorway. “Ready?” Jehan asks.

He’s not, but he smiles at his friends and nods. Grantaire picks up his bags and turns back to them. He swallows. He can’t think of a single thing to say.

The entrance hall, when he makes it there, is once again buzzing with people hugging and calling their farewells, and Grantaire feels like he’s about to cry when his friends crowd round him to give him a hug and wish him well. Most of them make him promise to at least try to come back in September. He doesn’t. He just smiles and hugs them back, telling them to have good summers. Floréal looks teary-eyed but determined not to cry when she hugs him goodbye and gives him a kiss on the cheek, making him promise to stay in touch with her.

He knows that the car to take him to the airport is likely already here, and somehow he manages to extract himself from their hold on him and it takes all he has not to sob as he leaves the best friends he’s ever had standing in the entrance hall of the boarding school.

Grantaire almost makes it to the car before he hears someone yelling his name, “Grantaire! Grantaire, wait!” He turns to see that Enjolras has run out of the front doors and is standing at the top of the stones steps. He stays stock still as Enjolras pushes his way through the crowds, trying to get to him.

When he reaches Grantaire, he throws himself into Grantaire’s arms. Into Grantaire’s ear he says, “Stay in touch. Even if you’re not coming back. Don’t forget about me.”

“[I could never forget about you,]” Grantaire replies in French. Then, in English, “I love you, Enjolras. If I can come back, I will.”

Enjolras pulls away, looking into his face, looking horribly upset. “I love you, too,” he says, and oh, he sounds devastated, and Grantaire nearly can’t bear it. Enjolras opens his mouth to say something else, but Grantaire misses it because at that moment his driver taps him on the shoulder, taking his attention and making Grantaire look away from the blond boy in his arms.

He steps aside as the driver opens the door for Grantaire to get inside. Putting one hand on the door, Grantaire moves as though to get in the car. He stops.

“Sir, you will miss your flight if we don’t hurry,” the chauffeur says. Grantaire looks at him and nods.

He looks back at Enjolras. He lifts a hand as Enjolras melts back into the crowd, eyes fixed on him.

He gets in the car. He stares resolutely down at his hands and there’s no denying that he’s crying as he watches a tear drip off the end of his nose and land on his hand. He looks back up as the engine starts, and it’s hard to see Enjolras through the crowd but Grantaire swears he’s still there. A flash of blond hair; a glimpse of his red jacket.

When the car drives through the gates, Grantaire stops craning his neck to look and allows himself to cry at the loss of the only place he’s ever felt at home – and the only boy he’s ever truly loved.

It’s absolutely heart-breaking, sitting on the plane, flying back to America, without a single clue as to whether he’ll ever see his friends again. His first night back in his home, alone in bed, is even worse. It’s not like he and Enjolras shared a bed every night, but the knowledge that if he gets lonely he can’t just slip into Enjolras’ bed with him is crushing.

His summer is spent trying not to forget all the French he learnt. He spends his days messaging his friends across the North Atlantic Ocean and trying to not let the thought of never going back get to him. His parents haven’t said a word about where he’ll be studying the following school year. When he tries to ask, they just say they haven’t given it much thought yet. He suggests going back to the boarding school, and they just say that they haven’t given it much thought yet.

As September draws nearer, Grantaire gets more and more anxious about the coming school year. His parents still don’t seem to have made up their minds. So when he’s woken up at five am, told to pack his bags and eat something quickly, he’s careful not to get his hopes up. He does as he’s told, throwing all the things he could need for a year abroad into his bags (hoping, hoping, hoping) and grabs an apple to eat in the car.

They’re going to the airport, he knows they are, and he stares out the window, wondering if he’s going back (praying that he’s going back). He refuses to get excited, refuses to think he’s going back. Even when he’s sitting on a plane destined for France, he will not get his hopes up. It would be just like his parents to be that cruel.

But when he’s sitting in a taxi, and the taxi is taking a very familiar route, towards the school – towards his friends and _Enjolras_ – he starts to hope.

By the time the taxi rounds the corner and the boarding school comes into view, Grantaire’s hands are shaking. It’s exactly as he remembers it. New and old students alike are dragging their bags up the stone steps, greeting old friends and making new ones. Grantaire gets out the taxi and waits for the driver to unload his bags. He takes a deep breath.

He’s back.

The moment Grantaire steps through the doors into the entrance hall he spots Enjolras. He quickly puts his suitcase down at the side of the room and drops his other bag and guitar case too. He catches the eye of Cosette whose face breaks into a grin, and Grantaire raises a finger to his lips to keep her quiet. He looks at Enjolras’ back pointedly and Cosette laughs, silently, looking a little amazed. He sees her slip through a door and disappear.

Grantaire approaches Enjolras from behind, where he’s talking animatedly to what is clearly a new student and their family. He clears his throat, ignoring the fact that he’s being a little rude, and asks, “And what about students that don’t speak French?” He watches as Enjolras’ back stiffens and he breaks off mid-sentence.

Enjolras takes a deep breath – Grantaire can see his shoulders lift – and then he turns round. His eyes are wide, and a disbelieving smile flashes across his face. He breathes out. “Grantaire,” he says, voice breathy, and Grantaire can’t do anything but nod, wordlessly.

A burst of laughter leaves Enjolras and his hands shoot up to cover his mouth, and then he launches himself at Grantaire, arms wrapping around him tightly, clinging to him. Grantaire’s arms come up too, holding Enjolras.

There’s a sound like a scream of excitement from somewhere to their left, and suddenly someone crashes into them, arms wrapping around them like a vice. Grantaire starts to laugh as he recognises Courfeyrac, and then he sees the rest of them, staring at him, grinning widely, and he opens up his arms to them and immediately he has a large group of French teenagers rushing at him, all trying to hug him.

This, laughing with all his friends, his boyfriend grinning uncontrollably, is home.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. That’s it. That’s the end, folks. Damn, I can’t believe we made it. I want to say thank you to everyone who read this – whether you were here from the early chapters and you’ve been reading for a year, or whether you only started reading it last chapter thank you so much for your support, comments, kudos, and love. 
> 
> I do have a few people specifically to thank, though. So, thesunwontset, LovelyJehan, RastafarianTargaryan, and Pure_Imagination96 – thank you for all your lovely comments. You’ve had so many nice things to say and I can’t thank you enough for your encouragement. thesunwontset especially, you always have something great to say and thank you so, so much, I always looked forwards to what you had to say!
> 
> Also, Jess, darling, you were so encouraging – that skype call where we did nothing but gossip about the Les Amis was the best (“the sort of person to have a shelf of potted plants next to a shelf of sex toys” is a quote that will probably never leave me) and thank you again for those aesthetics you made for Enjolras and Grantaire, nobody had ever made me anything for my fics before and I nearly cried because they were so beautiful. 
> 
> So, there we have it. It’s over. Thanks for sticking with me! (I just want to say that I originally planned to leave it when R leaves the school and not let you guys know whether he came back or not but I realised that was too cruel and he deserves a happy ending more than anyone!)
> 
> News: there may be a sequel! I say “may” because I don’t know if you will actually get it and if you do it might not be for a long while. Here’s the thing though: the sequel (if it happens) will be Enjolras/Combeferre/Grantaire. If that’s something you’d be interested in, subscribe to this as a series and let me know! (I do understand though that not everyone's into that ship and that's fine!) I’ve written parts but I’m still unsure as to whether it will be finished and uploaded. I’d like to think it will be, but I’d also like to concentrate on writing a different AU and possibly even different characters after all this! We’ll see, I just wanted to let you know it was a possibility. 
> 
> I didn't realise how not ready for this to be over I was until just now. Oh well, c'est la vie. For a final time, thank you. 
> 
> Come see me on my writing blog theskyis-forever. I take prompts.  
> Also, if you enjoyed this: [buy me a coffee?](http://ko-fi.com/A831F9U)


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a chapter, please read anyway. On the subject of books.

Hi, it's been a while. I am actually currently working on a sequel to this, but only God knows how long that's going to take, so don't hold your breath. What I want to talk about is money. My best friend lives in America, and we are hoping for her to visit me in England. This costs a fair amount of money, and it's looking like our dream may be just a dream. But I thought I'd ask:

If I were to turn this into a book, with more fleshed out chapters and all the errors fixed, would anybody be willing to buy it?  
I've just been doing so basic research, so this is very little more than an idea at the moment. It would be self-published through lulu.com. I have no idea what I'd price it at. Shipping would be international.

I have two questions really:  
1) would you buy it?  
2) if yes, would you prefer it stay as fanfiction, or would you want me to change the characters into "original" characters?  
Please, let me know your thoughts.

(Even if I did do this, I would not be taking this work down off the internet.)  
I will probably delete this chapter in a couple of weeks, just to maintain the nice look of this work of fiction, I just didn't know how else to address anybody that has read this. I have no idea if anyone would even want to buy it, which is why I'm asking.  
Hope you're all well, anyway.  
:)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Jeg kjøper deg en annen jævla maske](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5307641) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)




End file.
